Taking It For Granted
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. The team gets a confusing case when two dead brothers, one a marine, one a neurosurgeon, turn up in a pharmaceutical company's parking lot. More Tiva than I'd originally intended. Blame all their staring.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Cursed disclaimer, how you continually work to deny my false claims.

Summary: The team does what they always do, with the case and the solving. Tony works on his elaborate revenge plot. Ziva remains unimpressed.

Spoilers: Nothing on the show, because it's a non-continuous casefile. You should read my story _Locked_ first, but only if you really, really care why Tony is so desperate for revenge. Otherwise, nothing is going to happen for some reason you shouldn't already be aware of as the obsessed fan that I assume you are. Y'know, like me.

* * *

Tony stared across the gap between his and Ziva's desks. She was typing, referring to the open file on her desk every so often. Occasionally she sighed dramatically. He continued staring. He was formulating a plot. An evil plot. Something even she couldn't see through. He narrowed his gaze, wondering if he was going to have enough trick her. This was going to take an exceptional effort.

She'd clearly gotten sick of his constant staring. Not looking away from her computer screen, she asked, "Can I do something for you?"

He maintained his unbroken gaze. "That question has way too many possibilities."

"Confine them to things applying to the cold case files we're supposed to be checking up on."

Their eyes met for a moment before she refocused on her monitor. "So can I assume you've found something on the Hochstein case?"

He extended his arms and cracked his knuckles. "Oh, doubtful."

"Then don't you have some work to do?" She struck her keyboard with more force than necessary, highlighting her own apparent commitment to work.

He chuckled, swinging his feet onto his desk and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Oh, I certainly do, Zee-vah."

She sighed again, surveying him briefly before again turning to her computer. "Something that involves actual work?"

"Of course. My brain is always running at full capacity. And you do work here after all." He grinned as he realized he'd caught her attention.

She typed a few more lines before standing and sauntering to his desk. She settled herself calmly on the edge. "You wouldn't be threatening me, would you, Tony?"

Placing his elbows on his desk, he swung his feet to the floor and leaned toward her. "Now why would I do something foolish like that?"

"Oh…I don't know." Her palms were flat against his desk and she was bending very close. He maintained his position as she got closer. She was getting a little too close for comfort. She whispered, "Can _you_ think of a reason?"

He contemplated getting closer. If he timed it exactly he could be in her personal space before she could pull back. Assuming she'd pull back; he knew she wouldn't pull back. He decided to risk it anyway and half-stood, his nose grazing hers as he got in her face. "You're a smart girl. You figure it out."

Rather than tensing, she actually seemed to relax. "You're so fond of giving me pointers on my English. Why don't you spell it out for me?"

Oh, God. This was it. This was the moment. He could feel her warm breath on his face. His nerves started to take hold, pushing him forward and pulling him back at the same time. He wasn't sure that he wasn't hallucinating her eyelids actually fluttering closed.

"Ah-HEM!" They both hastily turned to McGee as he cleared his throat unnecessarily loudly. He looked back at them unflustered. "Just thought you should know I'm still here."

Ziva remained unfazed, though she was now sitting upright, arms crossed over her chest. "Where else would you be, McGee?"

"I could run down to the lab if you'd like some privacy." McGee attempted to intimidate Ziva by engaging her in a staring contest and failed. "Or I could just finish this report."

Assured that he had submitted, she walked slowly back to her own desk. "Good idea, McGee." She aimed a glare at Tony. "If we finish this paperwork, perhaps we can all go home early."

"Plans for tonight, Zee-vah?"

"As a matter of fact, Tony, I've got a date with…"

"Two dead bodies, Officer David," Gibbs interrupted as he walked around the corner, coffee in hand. "We've got a double homicide in Manassas. Marine and his brother. Think you can all save that paperwork for another night?"

"I'm almost done here…"

"That wasn't a real question, McGee."

"Right, boss." McGee rushed to clip his gun to his belt and dropped the gun and holster on the floor. He bent to recover them. "Any other details?"

"Yeah, McGee. I'm having you all grab your gear because local PD has three eyewitness accounts and arrested a guy they're bringing in as we speak."

"You never actually told us to grab our…" McGee paused as Gibbs stared. "I'm grabbing my gear, boss."

He hurried to join the group as they stepped into the elevator. Gibbs faced forward, standing next to McGee and not turning to the pair behind him. "I'm not going to have to give a refresher course on the rules am I?"

Tony shot a glace at Ziva before asking, "What do you mean, boss?"

"I just want to make sure everyone's been paying attention: not taking anything for granted, always carrying a knife, not dating co-workers." He glanced significantly over his shoulder. "I'm sure all of you are familiar with the important ones."

Ziva waited until he had stopped looking at them before she rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Gibbs. I never go anywhere without my knife."

He grunted and rolled his own eyes. "Yeah, because _that's_ the one I'd be worried about."


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs tugged the brim of his black hat closer to his eyes in an attempt to shield them from the stinging wind. Dust blew across the nearly empty parking lot in swirling clouds, carrying leaves and the occasional twig or piece of litter. He inhaled and felt the chill bite into his nasal passages. Winter was coming early; he could almost smell snow in the air.

He watched three flashlight beams arcing through the darkness as Tony, Ziva and McGee swept the lot. He had already decided that at least two of them would have to return at daybreak. Local PD had yet to find someone who could turn on the tall lamps in the parking lot. Not for the first time in his career at NCIS Gibbs wished murderers could keep more regular schedules.

In the distance, the imposing, blank edifice of the corporate headquarters of Callaghan Pharmaceuticals loomed. They'd been stonewalled in all attempts to enter the building, despite the fact that they had two corpses in a parking lot only accessible to Callaghan employees.

He turned his attention to a rough circle illuminated by several bright lights on folding scaffolds, at the center of which lay two dead bodies. Neither Marine Sergeant Stephen Neal nor his brother Patrick were company employees, yet both had been dumped in the pharmaceutical giant's employee parking lot.

Gibbs knelt to examine a pair of tire tracks just outside of the lighted area. His mind raced through possibilities. Terrorists? Corporate hit? Someone trying to send a less obvious message? He simply did not have enough information to make any decisions. His team continued to sweep the parking lot. They'd let him know if they found anything. He turned to the two living men in the circle of light.

"What have we got, Duck?"

"I doubt we're dealing with a primary crime scene here, Jethro. It looks to be a body drop."

"Okay. Why?"

"The angles of their arms and legs look unnatural," Palmer suggested, "like they didn't just fall this way."

"Indeed, Mr. Palmer, but I was actually referring to the lack of any blood spatter on the pavement. Even with the wind, there should be distinct sprays. We have only large pools and a few stray drops."

"And tire tracks," Gibbs added. "Time and cause of death, Ducky."

The doctor consulted his notes and turned his collar up further. "They've both been dead about four hours. On first inspection, it appears Sergeant Neal died from a single gunshot wound to the chest. I won't know until I get him back if he died instantly or from the blood loss." He beckoned Gibbs to lean over as he poked a gloved finger into the sergeant's chest. "You can see from the burns on the clothing and skin that the gun was fired from very close range, no more than a foot or so away." Gibbs followed Ducky to the second body. "Now, his brother Patrick was shot once in the head, clearly a fatal wound. And although I doubt these boys mind the cold, I would head back for a cup of tea."

"You're giving your patients tea now, Doctor?"

"Oh, heavens no. They wouldn't appreciate a good cup of Earl Grey."

* * *

Ziva squinted at the pavement, willing her eyes to focus on finding any anomalies in its regular black surface. She knelt to place a numbered yellow card next to another cigarette butt. "Don't Americans believe in ashtrays?" she muttered to herself, snapping a photograph.

"The ones who parked in my section did." She rose to see Tony walking toward her. "I only tagged three butts. Hope Gibbs wasn't expecting us to tag gum smashed into the pavement, too."

"You could suggest it to him." She swept her flashlight a few paces ahead of her and sighed in exasperation at the sight of another discarded cigarette.

"Nah, I'm sure he'll think of that for when he sends us back in the morning. Assuming we get out of here before dawn, of course." He clicked his camera as she stood, temporarily blinding her with the flash.

She blinked hard several times to clear the spots from her field of vision. "Are you just here to annoy me or do you plan to help me search this section?"

"Can't it be both?"

She paused to think of an appropriate response. A smile spread across her face as she eventually replied, "I suppose it always is with you."

He seemed to consider retorting, but said nothing. They moved in silence for a minute, working in tandem to clear the area approaching the western border of the lot.

She slowly became aware that he was spending more time watching her than looking at the ground. "What?"

"I was just thinking…earlier you said you never go anywhere without a knife. I don't remember you bringing one to bed when we were undercover."

She tilted her head to survey him. "I didn't need one. I had my gun, as I'm sure you remember."

"Not when we first got there…"

"Maybe you should have been paying closer attention to…" she trailed off as something glinted in the beam in front of her. She advanced a few paces. "What does that look like to you?"

He was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. "Shattered glass. Looks tinted. Car window, maybe? With your driving I'm sure you have no trouble recognizing it."

She squatted to get a better look. "And with your investigative skills, I'm sure the blood on the pavement around the glass was so obvious that you simply didn't feel the need to mention it."

He knelt beside her. "Something like that." He frowned at the ground. "There doesn't seem to be much glass here, just small shards." He stood and retreated, standing just inside the white line of the adjacent parking space. "How's this sound…" He mimed aiming a gun. "Driver shoots the passenger, bullet passes through the window. Only glass in the immediate area of the impact is blown onto the pavement. Driver tries to make a getaway and freaks out when he realizes he's got a dead guy riding shotgun. Shoves him out near the exit. Peels out."

"Yes, and maybe it happened twice. There are two bodies, remember?" She pursed her lips and assessed Tony's position relative to the blood. "If the car were parked in the spot, the glass and spatter are too far back."

He re-aimed his imaginary gun. "Okay, so maybe the driver shoots a guy sitting in the back seat. Glass shatters. Driver shoots lower on the passenger. Dumps both on the way out."

She was staring in the direction his finger-gun had been pointing a few moments previous. "Assuming your theory is correct, the bullet should be somewhere over there." She aimed her flashlight at a tall row of hedges fifteen meters away. "I hate gardening."

* * *

Gibbs buried his hands in his pockets and took long strides across the parking lot toward the only agent he could see. "McGee! You find anything?"

"Just a bunch of cigarette butts and a discarded pen with a chewed cap. We get a warrant to search the building yet?"

"Nope. Company is throwing up enough red tape to decorate an elementary school for Valentine's Day."

"That's a really random analogy, boss." He glared at the younger agent. "But it certainly is vivid."

"Where'd Tony and Ziva go?"

McGee glanced toward the opposite end of the lot. "They were standing over there, where those markers are, for a while. I thought I saw them heading toward the bushes a few minutes ago."

"Tim, go back to the truck and get something to cut through those hedges with."

"You think they're trapped in the hedges?"

Gibbs restrained his slapping reflex. "It'll be easier to find whatever they're looking for if we have something to cut with. Just get the bolt cutters or something and meet me by the hedges." He started toward the bushes as McGee jogged to the truck. Stopping to study the markers McGee had indicated, Gibbs got an idea of why his agents had disappeared into the landscaping.

He walked cautiously toward a section of the hedge that was being disturbed by more than the wind. A black NCIS cap sat on the ground in front of some recently snapped branches. Every so often, a flashlight beam shone through the thick leaves. Somewhere inside the hedge, Tony and Ziva were sniping at each other.

"You see anything?"

"Yes, Tony. I found the bullet ages ago. I just enjoy thrashing around in scratchy shrubs so much that I decided not to say anything."

"Why anyone would demand a shrubbery as a bribe is beyond me."

"What?"

"Nothing. See anything now? Ow!"

"What? Now you know I can see your shin."

"Yeah, thanks for that. Man, they must be using some kind of radioactive MiracleGro on these babies. Have you ever seen hedges this thick and lush?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"About the radiation or my hedge-appreciation?"

"Both, I hope. Wait, wait. I think I…yes! Bullet!"

Gibbs remained silent through the redoubled crashing in the hedge.

"Whoa. That's wedged in there pretty good. I don't suppose you brought your garden clippers?" Gibbs inserted a mental image of Ziva's expression in the ensuing pause. "Silly question. I saw what you did to that poor plant on your coffee table."

"It was a _cactus_. How was I supposed to know it actually needed water on occasion?"

"So I take it horticulture isn't a required training at Moussad?"

"Undercover operations don't usually include houseplants."

"You might have had to go undercover as a florist. You'd be, like, the female Jack Byrnes. Ooh, tell me you're gonna take me down to Chinatown."

"Is any of this helping us get this bullet out?"

"I thought you were never without a solution, knife-girl."

"This is a precision instrument of attack and defense. I'm not dulling it by playing lumberjack."

"You might want to reconsider. You could go shopping on Wednesdays and have buttered scones with tea. You already wear women's clothing, but you could spend more time hanging around in bars."

"I still have my knife out, Tony."

Gibbs finally spoke up. "I sent McGee to the truck for the bolt cutters."

All movement within the hedge ceased. "Thanks, boss. That should work. Uh, how long have you been out there?"

"Too long, DiNozzo. Too long."


	3. Chapter 3

Abby paced back and forth in her lab. "Gibbs promised me evidence three hours ago. Why don't we have it yet?"

Bert's glassy eyes stared back at her placidly.

"Yeah, I know I shouldn't worry, but I have this feeling." She picked up the hippo, squeezing him tightly. "What if something terrible happened, like a car accident or a sinkhole or a meteor strike?"

"Then I wouldn't be here with a Caf-Pow that I'm not sure I should be giving you?"

"McGee!" Abby rushed to the door and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I fell asleep at my computer after I processed the dead guys' clothes and I had this really weird dream that you guys disappeared and I couldn't find you and there was this guy dressed as Tigger from _Winnie the Pooh_ who was helping me look for you, but he kept…" she stopped abruptly. "You're not going to hand over that Caf-Pow if I finish this story, are you?"

"Do you really think more caffeine is the best thing for you right now?"

"It's 3:30 in the morning. Do you think you should be messing with my caffeine supply? Do I need to remind you that I am one of the only…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, no forensic evidence. Fortunately, whoever killed our Marine and his brother is _not_ a forensic scientist." McGee pointed to the cart he had wheeled in behind him. "Blood, glass, a bullet and a mountain of cigarette butts among other things. Oh, and photos, of course." He inserted a memory card into the computer and called up the image index. "We've got tire treads and reason to believe that the car that left them may be our primary crime scene."

She pawed through the clear plastic bags of stubs before opting for the glass jars. She held one at eye-level and examined the contents. "Shattered glass, possibly with little red specks on it."

"Right. We were thinking car window?"

"Looks tinted. Maybe it came from a cranberry red 2004 Ford Explorer."

McGee's jaw dropped open. "You can tell that just from looking at a few pieces of glass?"

"I've been waiting here all night. You were supposed to have been back hours ago. I've had time to do a little back reading on the boys. Sergeant Neal happens to be the proud owner of a 2004 Explorer that is not currently accounted for."

"Rule number eight, Abby."

"You're in the lab, Timmy. Feel free to assume your butt off until the all tests have been run."

"Just don't let me hear about it."

McGee attempted to stammer an excuse while Abby replied, "That would be a lot easier if you weren't such a sly eavesdropper, Gibbs."

"What do we know so far, Abs?"

"Considering I just got the evidence? We know I've got a full morning of analysis to look forward to."

Gibbs frowned slightly. "Didn't Ducky send you the dead guys' clothes?"

"Oh! Sorry, I got a little focused on my new goodies." She walked to her table, laying her hands on the bags there as she talked about their contents. "Off-duty, our sergeant was a Gap man: khakis, blue oxford, brown leather belt, boxers. He was also wearing black leather Kenneth Cole loafers, bit of a faux pas there. His socks didn't have labels, but I'd bet a Caf-Pow…no, I'd never bet a Caf-Pow. But, not the point. The shirt tested positive for GSR, but I doubt you needed me to tell you that. The brother was a little more high-end: Brooks Brothers suit and Bruno Magli shoes. I'm sure O.J. would approve. Neither one had a coat, which I thought was odd considering how cold it is."

"Maybe they weren't intending to spend any time outside lying on the pavement?"

"Yes, I always bring a scarf for my parking lot naps." She moved to her computer. "I got their credit cards out of their wallets, which were both in their pants, so I guess we can assume robbery wasn't the motive. Neither of them have made any purchases since yesterday, and most of the stuff they buy looks pretty benign anyway, groceries, gas, that kind of stuff."

"Anything else?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Well, I know how you feel about assumptions, so I don't want to…"

"I'll make an exception since we're in the lab."

"Aw, that's sweet, Gibbs." Abby drew a glare as she took a break to sip her Caf-Pow. "Right, Patrick Neal is a surgeon, so he _should_ have a beeper or cell phone or palm pilot slash cell phone…"

"I almost got one of those instead of the video phone," McGee interrupted, "but then I figured it would suck if I lost it because then I'd be losing my phone and palm instead of just…" McGee winced and Abby suppressed a laugh. "Sorry, boss."

Gibbs brushed his hand against his shirt. "So our dead guy is a doctor with no cell phone? Do we even know that he had one?"

"I'm working on it, but you'd be surprised how unhelpful people can be in the wee hours of the morning."

"Anything you can work on in the meantime? I seem to remember sending someone down with some evidence not long ago."

"Somebody needs more coffee. What do you want processed first, O Grumpy One?"

Gibbs held up a finger for each item he ticked off. "Bullet, blood, glass, incidental parking lot trash."

"Both wounds were through and throughs so I didn't get any shells from Ducky, but if you brought me bullets I can tell you whose head or chest they've toured."

Gibbs pushed the bags on the cart around, searching. He finally held one up. "We've only got one bullet."

"Uh, Gibbs, I hate to bring attention to your lack of visual acuity again, but that's a stick."

McGee cleared his throat, "The, uh, bullet is in the stick. Tony and Ziva spent about ten minutes in a hedge looking for it."

"Fun." Abby examined the bag. "I should be able to get this out without damaging the bullet."

"Good, do it." He walked toward the elevator.

"Wait, Gibbs! When you said process the incidental parking lot trash, what, exactly, did you mean?"

"Fingerprints, DNA, whatever you can get from cigarette butts."

"That could take _days_."

"Start with the ones closest to the sites of interest, then hope we've made enough progress to save you from processing the rest on a rush. McGee!"

He flashed a sympathetic look at Abby. "Coming, boss."

"Wait. Separate the butts from around the body drop and where we found the glass. Then send all the relevant data upstairs."

Abby held her silence until she was sure Gibbs was gone. "He doesn't really expect me to run DNA on all these cigarette butts? I mean, fingerprints are a pain but I can run them quickly. DNA is, like, hours of work and waiting."

"Mostly waiting…I see your point. I'll get to those cigarettes."

"Thanks, McGee." Abby pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and removed the bullet-containing stick from its evidence bag. "Looks like a small caliber. .22, maybe? So Tony and Ziva snuck into the bushes to find this?"

His head shot up in surprise. "I forgot to tell you. I think they almost kissed in the squad room earlier."

"Ohmigod! Was that before or after the teacher totally yelled at you for chewing gum in class?"

"What?" His eyes shifted back and forth as he tried to follow her line of thinking.

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't junior high, McGee. They're not just gonna make out in front of you."

"Yeah, I forgot how subtle they've been lately." He smiled as he made her laugh and continued searching through the pile of bags, absently separating them into two stacks. "Hey, has Tony tried to tell you that he thought they were secret Moussad handcuffs that regular keys wouldn't work on?"

"Only, like, every time I see him. He may actually be starting to believe it."

"You know, I don't think he even tried to get out. Well, not beyond tugging the chain any time he wanted attention."

Abby fluttered her eyelids and pouted. "Mistress would have punished him if he'd taken them off without her permission. She's really got that whole Jedi mind trick going on him. Hey, you think that would work for me?"

McGee nodded with mock seriousness. "Try it the next time he's down here."

Abby turned and raised her hand, wiggling her fingers. "I find your lack of faith disturbing, Timmy."

* * *

A/n: If you're wondering about the whole handcuffs situation, it refers to my previous story 'Locked.' Several reviews about the universality of handcuff locks/keys made me aware that I was being a bit unclear. Yes, Tony could have gotten out of the cuffs at any time for reasons other than the fact that I was torturing him because it was funny they were his own cuffs. It's the fact that he didn't that's significant. I thought the psychological aspect of choosing to remain in an easily escapable situation would add another (more serious) layer to the humor of Tony being cuffed to his chair all day while illuminating another dimension of the Tony/Ziva dynamic. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ziva studied her appearance in the small cosmetic mirror she kept in her desk. She'd managed to untangle all the twigs and leaves from her hair on the ride back from Manassas, but she ran her hand quickly over her head anyway. There were several small scratches on her face from crawling through the bushes, but she could ignore those. What she could not ignore was…

"Can I borrow that when you're done?" Tony's voice was soft; he was testing her mood.

"Sure." She snapped the mirror shut and lobbed it in the general direction of his desk.

He caught it easily. "You should be more careful. It's seven years bad luck to break a mirror. Of course with a little mirror like this you could probably get off light with just three." He laughed weakly and she refused to allow herself to look at him. The last thing she wanted right now was for him to grin at her and make everything okay; she was in the mood to stay mad for a while. He sighed and set the mirror on his desk without opening it. "I said I was sorry."

She touched her forehead self-consciously, running her fingers along the deep scratch over her left eyebrow. "I suppose I should have expected something like this."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"For two weeks you've been talking about exacting your revenge. 'Watch your back, Ziva.' 'I'm planning something special for you, Ziva.' I never anticipated this, but I suppose it was more of a spontaneous thing on your part." She jumped up as he shot out of his chair and over to her desk.

"You can't tell me that you honestly believe I tried to hurt you on purpose."

"I don't know," she said tentatively. She could already feel that she'd taken it too far, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "Did you?"

He bent over her desk to the point of invading her space. "No. But don't make me wish I had."

She was having trouble reading him. She couldn't tell if he was being completely serious or just baiting her. She gritted her teeth as she leaned toward him. "Now I know you aren't so stupid as to be making _serious_ threats."

"Gee, I don't know. You seem to think I'm stupid enough to intentionally cause you injury."

She narrowed her eyes and tried not to increase her respiration rate as they glared at each other. She didn't understand how he'd gotten her to let her guard down so much that she was able to get this angry with him. In a matter of less than a minute the situation had escalated from mild sniping to an all-out hostile confrontation from which neither would retreat. They stood at her desk, staring coldly across a space of less than a foot; they couldn't stay like this all night. She decided that since she'd started the latest round, she would end it. "Just because you didn't mean it doesn't mean it wasn't a shitty thing to do."

"I know. That's why I apologized, which is more than I can say for you."

She drew back slightly. "You almost put my eye out because I kicked you? Fine, I'm sorry I kicked you in the shin."

He leaned in further, negating the space she'd created. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Much as I appreciate that, I was actually referring to…"

"Huh. Last time I saw you two like this you were at Tony's desk." McGee stood at his desk, watching them with an oblivious smile on his face.

"Shut up, McGee," Ziva replied with far more venom than she'd intended. She sank into her chair as Tony backed away. Her anger dissipated as he got further from her. "Tim, I apologize," she said softly, turning toward his desk. "You didn't deserve that."

He looked up with a forgiving expression that was quickly replaced with one of surprise. "Oh…what happened to your, uh…" he trailed off as he gestured vaguely.

"I had a little accident."

"On the ride back with Gibbs? Is that three or four now for you?"

"At the crime scene, McGee. Why does everyone always associate my driving with bad things happening?" She looked pointedly at Tony, daring him to answer.

He gave her a half-smile. "I'll pretend that was a rhetorical question and go back to McGee's first line of query. Officer David was grievously wounded when my sinister revenge plot failed because I relied on a hedge instead of my Red Ryder BB gun."

"I'm not following."

Tony spared an incredulous look for McGee. "Tune in to TNT anytime on December 25 and you'll figure it out. Long story short, I snapped a branch in Ziva's face when we were climbing out of the hedge and now she thinks I was attempting to blind her as part of my elaborate payback scheme for the handcuff incident."

"An eye for six hours cuffed to your chair? Seems a little extreme."

"He wasn't actually trying to blind me, McGee."

Tony threw his hands up. "Thank you! I've been trying to tell her that all frickin' night." He swiveled his chair to face her. "Why is it the second he shows up you're all hugs and forgiveness?"

Ziva curled her lip faintly. "I wasn't mad because I thought you tried to put my eye out. I was mad because you almost did, regardless of intention. And there will be no hugging."

He had the good sense to look remorseful. "So…does that mean you're not mad anymore?"

"No. I'm only mildly annoyed now." She let her eyes flick in his direction and felt a small smile pull up the corners of her mouth. "Just don't ever do something like that again."

"No problem. When I _do_ extract sweet vengeance, I promise I won't draw blood."

"And I promise not to break bones when I retaliate."

"No, then the score will be settled and we can go back to torturing McGee."

"Deal," Ziva agreed, causing McGee to look up in alarm.

His attention was almost immediately diverted by a series of beeps from his computer. "Guys, we've got a hit on the BOLO Abby put out on Sgt. Neal's SUV. It's been spotted in a staff parking lot at Georgetown University Hospital."

"Who called it in?" Gibbs appeared over the partition, startling the three agents.

McGee was the first to recover, reading from his screen, "Uh, looks like a campus security guard."

"Have him sit on the car until Tony and Ziva get there."

McGee watched them gather their gear. "We're not all going?"

"To peek in some windows and find out why it's there?"

"Well, if that car is our crime scene…"

"It's not."

"How can you be sure, boss?"

"Did the security guy say anything about broken windows or blood everywhere?"

"No, but I haven't actually talked to him yet." McGee picked up his phone and began to dial.

"You obviously haven't talked to Abby, either. She just called to tell me that the tires that made our tracks weren't from an SUV or truck."

Tony paused. "Then why are we still worried about Neal's vehicle?"

"Because he's dead and it's parked twenty miles away from where we found him, DiNozzo. Get going."

"Right, boss."

"Hold on."

"Gettin' a little confused here, boss."

Gibbs walked over to Tony and Ziva, placing a hand on a shoulder of each. "Did you two kiss and make up?"

"Absolutely not," Ziva answered instantly with a scandalized look.

"Well, you're not leaving until you do."

"Is that an order?"

"Yeah. You can bitch at each other all you want when you're going through cold cases, but I expect you to be professional during active investigations. So…" He waved his hands vaguely in a gesture of clearing the air.

"I hardly see how this would be considered professional…" she saw it was an argument she wasn't going to win, though she really couldn't see why Gibbs of all people would force her into this. "Fine," she huffed. She took a step toward Tony, rose to her tiptoes and placed a quick peck on his lips. Turning back to Gibbs, she asked, "Can we go now?"

He looked surprised, but nodded. She tried not to run to the elevator.

Tony remained rooted to a spot in front of his desk, a silly grin on his face. "If anybody explains to her that that was just an expression…" He seemed wake up as Gibbs smacked the back of his head. "On my way, boss."


	5. Chapter 5

Tony cupped his hand and squinted into the Ford Explorer's interior. "Looks like the low-end model. Cloth seats, no CD player…I think it's only two-wheel drive. Why bother buying an SUV if you're not gonna spring for the 4x4?"

"Where is he going need it? All the roads around here are paved and fairly well-maintained." He watched Ziva hug herself tightly as a particularly strong gust of wind blew through the parking lot.

"Guess you haven't seen the pothole that ate my buddy's motorcycle. And it's not about actually going off-road; it's knowing you _could_." He peered into the backseat. "Doesn't look like anything is in here. We can wait in the car until our parking security guy gets back."

Ten minutes later, she was still rubbing her hands together in front of the car's dashboard vents. "How long does it take to look up a simple parking permit?"

"Maybe the office is on the other side of campus or something. But you've really never seen _The Birds_?"

"No."

"We're gonna have to add that to the list of movies you have to watch. What are we up to tonight, like, fifteen?"

"Tony, I have better things to do with my time than watch movies you're just going to babble on about regardless of whether or not I've seen them."

"I think watching more movies could be a real learning experience. They'd help you assimilate more American idioms, customs…"

"Like Gibbs forcing me to kiss you?"

"You know, you keep bringing that up. The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"I am simply trying to understand why he insisted that be a part of us reconciling. It doesn't seem…American."

"Maybe you'd be clearer on it if we made up some more." He was totally unsurprised that her response was to punch him in the arm. He waited a few moments before resuming his movie chatter, "Hey, did you ever see the Mel Gibson _Hamlet_?"

"I preferred Olivier's. Here's our security guard."

Ziva answered her phone as the skinny kid in the overlarge hat approached their car. Tony rolled down the window. "They keep that info in a vault somewhere?"

"Naw, they just gotta make it difficult. Night guy in the office is a real jerk." He handed a piece of paper through the window. "The permit number is registered to Dr. Patrick Neal from the neurology department."

Tony scratched his hair under his hat. "He's a brain surgeon and he's borrowing his brother's truck to drive to work?"

The guard ripped another piece of paper from his notepad. "He's also got a permit for a black Mercedes S65. Vanity plate 'GRY MTR'."

"Thanks, man. We're going to hang out here until our truck shows up to tow that," he pointed to the Explorer, "back to NCIS."

"Whoa there. I can't just let you take this vehicle."

"Relax, the warrant will get here when the flatbed does. You can wait in your car to make sure if it'll make you feel better."

The kid looked at him skeptically, but returned to his own car.

Ziva was finishing her conversation. "We'll leave as soon as the vehicle is on its way to the garage." She snapped the phone shut.

"Gibbs?"

"Gibbs. Local PD found Dr. Neal's car parked on a side road about two miles from the crime scene. It looks like two people were killed in it. He and McGee are en route and he wants us to meet them there as soon as this is done."

Tony held one of the papers the security guard had handed him to his forehead. "The car is a black Mercedes, GRY MTR."

She snatched the paper from his hand and looked it over. He found it thoroughly alluring as she scrunched her eyebrows together thoughtfully. After a few moments she smiled. "Grey matter. How clever."

"Yes, what a catastrophe that he opted for neurosurgery instead of stand-up comedy." He pointed toward the road. "I think that's our flatbed. Guess we got our warrant." He opened the door and got out of the car, waving his arm over his head to flag the truck down.

The security guard was nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other outside his car. Tony winked at him. "I wouldn't worry too much about the good doctor coming back for it."

* * *

McGee stared through the lens of the camera at the black Mercedes sedan. Take the bloodstains and shattered glass away and it was a car he wouldn't mind owning. He wondered what would happen to it after they were finished with it, if would eventually pass to some sleazy used car dealer would sell it to some unsuspecting slob who would then be haunted by the ghosts of the Neal brothers. It had been done before, he was sure, but he filed it away nevertheless. He could jazz it up a little or just make it a little diverting passage that…

His thoughts were interrupted as someone pressed his finger down, setting off the flash. He turned to Gibbs with a look of surprise. "Seemed like you needed help finding the button, McGee."

"Oh, sorry, boss. I was just thinking…"

"About not apologizing constantly?"

"Uh, no. About the back window. It looks like it was partway open when the shot was fired."

"Explains why we saw the spray pattern we did on the pavement."

"Yeah, but it's cold. Why would somebody be sitting in the back with the window open?"

"Getting some fresh air? Smoking?"

"The car doesn't smell like cigarettes."

"Maybe it's being covered by the smell of blood and gunpowder."

"Definitely possible, boss." McGee turned at the sound of a pair of car doors closing.

"Anything else?"

"There aren't any tire tracks leading away, but I did see some footprints." He scanned the ground, looking for the markers he had placed. "There. The mud along the shoulder isn't quite frozen, so we may be able to follow a trail."

"Good work, McGee. Nice of you two to join us."

Tony and Ziva stood looking at the deceased doctor's car. "Sorry, boss. Flatbed's taking the Explorer back to the garage and eHHH should be here in a half hour."

"Good. That gives the three of you time to spread out and figure out how whoever left this car here got away."

"Great," Tony muttered, "I love searching back roads in the middle of the night."

McGee grinned as he heard Gibbs slap Tony. "Stop complaining, DiNozzo. It'll be dawn in another hour or so."


	6. Chapter 6

Back from vay-cay. You'll have to excuse me. I'm completely mad.

* * *

Tony glanced around the parking lot as he got out of his car and noted that had beaten everyone, including Gibbs, to the office. He checked his watch, then held it up to his ear. As an especially strong gust of wind carried the sound of screeching tires across the lot, he grinned to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets and pressing his body tightly to his car. 

On the corner, two sailors who had been about to cross the road leaped back to the curb. Seconds later, Tony leaned forward to tap on the passenger-side window of the red Mini that had squealed to a stop in the spot next to his. "You get points for soda cans and squirrels, not pedestrians."

Ziva placed two coffee cups on the roof of her car. "I think I saw a movie once where you _did_ get points if you ran over people."

"Yeah, but only if you were actually in the race." He took the coffee she offered him and fell into step with her as she walked quickly toward the building. "I love that scene where the doctors are wheeling patients into the road outside the hospital for David Carradine to run down and he turns into the…" he stopped suddenly and grabbed her arm. "Hold on a second. Did you really just make an obscure movie reference?"

"What? I saw it on television one night when I couldn't sleep. Rambo was in it." She pulled her arm from his grasp and continued into the building.

He jogged to catch up and caught her at the door. "Two movies before you even walk through the door? Maybe my ultimate revenge will end up being a total conversion to the DiNozzo way of life."

"I doubt it," she sniffed, pressing the elevator call button. "I really don't understand your ridiculous obsession with revenge."

He contemplated her for a moment. Her hair was down and looked tousled, like she'd just gotten out of bed and run her hands through it. It struck him as a little odd; she usually wore her hair up with her long gray coat. He allowed his eyes to drift down her body, wishing he could see what she was wearing so he could start his daily ritual of imagining the various ways he could strip her.

"Did you skip breakfast?"

He blinked and realized that she was standing in the elevator, holding the door for him. "Uh…yeah. I had, uh, Frosted Flakes." He rapidly stepped in next to her and took a sip of his coffee. "Why?"

"No reason. You just look hungry."

"Oh." He stared forward. He'd been too blatant and now she was calling him on it. "I meant to grab a banana, too, but I guess I didn't have time."

"Do you want a muffin?" She pulled a lumpy, cellophane-wrapped object out of her purse and handed it to him. "It's chocolate chip."

He accepted the confection with a sigh of relief. "Homemade?"

"Yes."

"Bringing me coffee and making me muffins? Are you trying to start rumors, Zee-vah?"

"No. I am merely attempting to…Look, I overreacted about the whole branch thing and I just wanted to say…This is difficult for me because I don't normally do this…"

He tried not to laugh as he interrupted her, "Are you saying this is an apology muffin?"

"I don't have anything to apologize for. I am just trying to say that everything is normal and we shouldn't dwell on things that have happened." She glanced back at him as she exited the elevator.

He trailed her toward their desks. "So this is a bribe. You're getting nervous over what I might do. Well, it's gonna take a lot more than muffins to…" His attention was diverted by a woman sitting behind his desk. "Uh, can I help you?"

"Are you Agent DiNozzo?" She stood and walked purposefully toward him.

"Yes." He tried to remember her face, her legs, anything. She was the kind of woman he'd give a second glace but forget within seconds. He exchanged a glance with Ziva, who shrugged and stepped behind her own desk. He silently prayed this wasn't a woman he'd dated once and never called. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"

"You can tell me why you had my car towed from the hospital this morning."

He snapped his jaw shut to prevent it from dropping. "Are we talking about a red Ford Explorer, Virginia registration 073 LDG?"

"You're damn right! I get off work and find my car missing. Then security tells me that some federal agents showed up with a warrant and towed it off. You people have some nerve."

Ziva joined the conversation. "Are you the owner of the vehicle?"

"Yes…no…sort of. It's registered to my fiancée, but we bought it together and we both drive it." The woman glanced around the room, as if suddenly realizing that she had more to worry about than a missing car. "Oh my God, has something happened to Steven?" She grabbed Ziva's hand and looked pleadingly at her.

Tony took an exaggerated step toward the elevator. "Yeah, Officer David here can explain the situation while I go downstairs and check on your car." He didn't turn when Ziva called his name anxiously.

The garage was quiet when he entered it a few moments later. He walked toward the cars they'd collected the previous night. "Anybody here?"

A figure in a red jumpsuit and welder's mask suddenly jumped out from behind the rear of the Mercedes. "These aren't the droids you're looking for."

Tony recoiled involuntarily. "Jeez, Abs." He regained his composure before slowly turning to look behind him, convinced she had to be talking to someone else. Finding no one, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

She pushed her mask up on her forehead. "Nope. I was just testing a little theory."

"Well, if your hypothesis was 'Abby is nuts,' let me be the first to congratulate you on proving it."

"And let _me_ congratulate _you_."

"For what?"

"I heard you and Ziva were in the squad room k-i-s-s-i-n-g," she sing-songed. "How'd _that_ happen?"

He leaned against the side of the Mercedes and leered suggestively, plucking an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of his blue striped shirt. "I suppose it was just a matter of time before she gave in to her deepest desires and most primal urges and…"

"I ordered her to."

Tony inhaled sharply the familiar sting of a Gibbs slap. "Right, boss."

Abby shook her head, causing her ponytails to swing wildly. "So not fair. All I ever get ordered to do is run tests on clothes and guns and cars. Are you guys secretly filming some kind of reality show up there that I don't know about?" She looked expectantly at Gibbs, who grimaced slightly. "Yeah, who'd wanna watch us? Anyway, no blood in the Explorer, but there are a lot of fingerprints belonging to a single individual who is not Sgt. Neal."

"Yeah, I think she's upstairs."

Gibbs and Abby both turned to Tony. "Who?"

"Oh, Neal's fiancée. I figured you saw her in the squad room with Ziva, boss."

"I haven't been up to the squad room yet." He walked toward the elevator, beckoning Tony after him. "Why didn't anyone tell me he had a fiancée?"

"Well, we just found out when she came in demanded to know what we'd done with her car."

"_Her_ car?"

"Apparently she was working at the hospital when we arrived and towed it." Tony barely squeezed into the elevator before the doors closed. "We didn't know about her because the car was register to Neal and the parking permit was the brother's."

Gibbs sighed. "Glad she thought to come down for questioning." He was prevented from giving Tony another slap as his phone rang. "Gibbs…yeah, we'll do that…okay." He snapped the phone shut. "Abby wants the fiancée's prints."

"She couldn't tell us that five seconds ago?" Tony didn't escape the slap this time.

"She also said to stop leaving without saying goodbye."


	7. Chapter 7

Ziva wished she'd had more time to sleep after spending the almost the entire night searching freezing parking lots and roadsides. She rested her elbows on her desk and made tiny circles with the tips of her fingers as she massaged her temples. McGee had taken Maureen Thompson, Sgt. Neal's fiancée, home, as her SUV was still being examined in the garage. She hadn't taken the news of his death well.

Ziva slowly folded her arms in front of her and rested her head on them. McGee would be gone for at least another twenty minutes and Gibbs had just gone upstairs to brief the director. She decided with a little luck she might be able to catch a quick nap. She could sense that luck was not on her side as something small and cold hit the nape of her neck. The ice cube slid back, necessitating her reaching back to catch it at her collar. Head still resting on one arm, she reached into her top desk drawer and rummaged blindly. Finding what she wanted, she held it up. "You do that again and I'm throwing _this_ back at you."

"No need to break out the knives," Tony answered. "Crazy chick."

She dropped the knife on her desk and looked up, settling her chin on her forearm. "No, the crazy one just went home with McGee."

He rolled his chair over to her desk. "She just found out the guy she was gonna marry is dead. It's normal to cry and freak out a little. I think it'd be weirder if she didn't."

"Perhaps, but that was excessive." She held up her wastebasket for him to examine. "I used fewer Kleenex when I had that sinus infection last winter."

"Yeah, I forgot how much you love the crying." He grinned, propping his cheek against his hand. "Think about it this way – how would you feel if I died?"

She buried her face in her arms again. "I'd hide the evidence, make it look like an accident and flee the country. They'd never get Israel to extradite. Wake me when Gibbs gets back." He was tapping his forefinger on her head almost immediately. "Tony, I said when…"

"When what, Officer David?" Gibbs stood in the spot where Tony's chair had been moments earlier. "What did we find out from the fiancée?"

Ziva blinked hard, groping for her keyboard. A license photo appeared on the plasma. "Maureen Thompson is a nurse at Georgetown University Hospital. She last saw Sgt. Neal yesterday morning when she picked up the car. She arrived at the hospital just after noon and worked a double shift. We'll confirm that when we're there."

"Did she explain why her parking permit was registered to her fiancée's brother?"

"Yes. Doctors get better parking spots than nurses and he did her a favor. Not the first one either; he also introduced her to his brother."

"You said she last saw him when she picked up the car?"

"They didn't live together. She said something about being 'old-fashioned,' whatever that means."

Tony had sidled up next to her. "Oh, you know, she churns her own butter, knits her own sweaters by the light of candles she made herself, that kind of stuff."

"She's not Amish, DiNozzo. Do you have anything useful to add?"

"Actually, I do." He pulled the remote from Ziva's hand and clicked it several times. A photograph of a shoeprint appeared on the screen. "Sneaker print from the roadside where we found the Mercedes. Nike running shoe, size eight, men's. Or, size ten, women's. I noticed the former future Mrs. Neal was wearing Nikes."

Ziva pursed her lips. "They were Adidas and her feet were smaller than mine."

"Right." He paused as he looked at her a moment longer than necessary. "Anyway, we've got a series of prints from a right shoe that abruptly stop about twenty feet up the road. What we do not have are tire tracks. So how's this sound? Sneaker guy gets out of the Mercedes, walks to the getaway car, where he gets in the passenger side. We could be looking for a two-man team here, boss."

"Yeah, or three, or eight, or a busload of tourists. Find me something concrete."

"Wow, my timing is getting just as good as yours, Gibbs!" Abby was still wearing her jumpsuit from the garage. "When no one came back to hear about the cars I thought I'd come up to see if I could catch the camera guys in action. No such luck, I guess."

"What have you got, Abs?"

"The Explorer looks clean, but I pulled a bullet from the front passenger door of the Mercedes." She held up a glass jar. "Same caliber as the bush bullet. I should be able to match the striations, if they match, of course. DNA will take a few hours, but I can already tell you that the bullet from the hedge is the one that killed Dr. Neal. The car has a lot of blood in it, mainly on the right side, and the right rear window has a half-moon shattering pattern at the top where it was open. I got fingerprints off the driver's side door, steering wheel and gearshift, but I haven't had time to compare them to the brothers yet."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, I think I really like it when we can get the crime scene delivered by flatbed."

Gibbs smiled as he shook his head. "Nice work, Abs." He turned to Tony and Ziva. "You two…"

"Oh, make them do the chicken dance!" Abby interrupted. "What, you made them make out earlier."

"That was just a misunderstanding. Anyway, I talked to Georgetown Hospital this morning. They're willing to do whatever it takes to cooperate."

"That's generous," Ziva said, "and what do you mean, 'misunderstanding'?"

"He didn't mean anything." Tony grabbed arm and pulled her toward the elevator.

"I need my coat." She leveled a glare at him. "What, exactly, did I misunderstand?"

"Nothing, Ziva. We should really be getting to the hospital."

"Take Ducky with you," Gibbs called.

Ziva looked curiously at Tony as they stepped into the elevator. "Ducky? Is Gibbs expecting us to find a body?"

"I think he's suggesting that even though you're fluent in 800 languages, we still need someone who speaks 'doctor.' It's like sending McGeek when we need an ambassador to the nerds."


	8. Chapter 8

Tony's entire arm and hand were sore. He'd been gripping the roll bar tightly since they'd left the parking lot. His stomach lurched as they took another corner at an excessive speed. "It's not like they're gonna move the hospital between when we left and now."

Ziva passed a UPS truck illegally, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with an oncoming car as she swerved back into her own lane. "Have we ever been in an accident together?"

"Uh, yeah. As I recall you almost single-handedly started a war with Venezuela on that occasion."

"I said accident, Tony. That one was intentional and it would have worked if that Secret Service agent had given us better information. And I hardly think the political situation between your two countries is my fault."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He knew she was looking at him and he tried not to grimace as they cut across three lanes to make their turn. "Is the first country you've been to where they install turn signals in cars?"

She accelerated into a sharp curve. "You shouldn't have let me drive if all you were going to do is whine."

He gaped at her incredulously. "You shouldn't have picked my pocket and stolen the keys!"

"You should have been paying more attention."

"Well, you…Ziva!" He dug his fingers into the dashboard, silently praying his grip wouldn't affect deployment of the airbag. "Get off the median!"

A deep laugh sounded from the back seat as the two left tires regained the pavement. "I find it rather exciting. It's like a carnival ride."

Tony kept his eyes locked on the road ahead of them. "How long has it been since you've been to a carnival, Ducky?"

"I don't know. When was the last World's Fair?"

"1939?" Ziva cut off yet another car as she fishtailed into the hospital parking lot. "I think I read a novel about it."

"Hmm. Slightly before my time. Perhaps it was a county fair of some sort. I know I remember Mother was very excited about riding the bumper cars."

"Bumper cars?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'd like them, Ziva. You see, there are a group of small cars with rubber bumpers surrounding the bottoms on all sides, and drivers maneuver around an enclosed area running into each other."

Tony resisted the overly dramatic urge to fall to his knees and kiss the ground as he got out of the car. "In other words, it would be just like your regular driving, without all the property damage and insurance troubles."

She made a face at him before turning toward the front door of the hospital. Upon entering, he got a moment alone with her as Ducky went to the courtesy desk to determine the location of the neurology department. "What's up?"

"What do you mean?" She leaned toward the window of the gift shop, pretending to inspect a shelf of colorful stuffed bears embroidered with get well messages.

He nudged her arm to draw her attention back to him. "I mean that that was terrible driving even by your standards."

"Really?" She was looking at him in the way he liked least, the way that told him she'd just won a contest he didn't even know he'd been involved in. "Did it give you a sick feeling your stomach?"

"Yeah. I almost gave your muffin back. Hey, that was pretty good, by the way. When did you have time to make that?"

"Before we got this case, and don't try to change the subject. Do you want to experience another car ride like that in the near future?"

"Hell no."

"Then we have an understanding."

"About what, exactly?"

"The next time there's going to be crying, _you_ handle the interview." He ducked to catch the keys she had tossed over her shoulder as she walked toward Ducky. "Ready, Doctor?"

"Yes, I do fit in well with my scrubs on. I'm glad you didn't give me any time to change. But to business – we are going to follow the signs for the cafeteria, but make a right just before we get there and go toward radiology. There is a set of elevators just after the CT lab. We take those up to the seventh floor and the neurology department should be right there."

"These medical building are always built like labyrinths," Ziva sighed as they stepped into the elevator three wrong turns and ten minutes of wandering later. She pressed the button for their floor. "At least Maureen Thompson works in the same department as Dr. Neal. Do you want to check with the floor nurses about the fiancée while Ducky and I talk to Neal's colleagues?"

"No problem," Tony replied distractedly, still focused on the first thing she'd said. "Hey, did you see _Labyrinth_? Great way to freak out young children." He caught a disapproving glance from her. "What? Can you think of anything scarier for kids than David Bowie _and_ Muppets?"

She regarded him seriously. "Suicide bombers."

"Sorry," he muttered, averting his eyes. "Guess I should have specified American children."

"All right, here we are," Ducky said with disproportionate cheerfulness as the elevator dinged. "If anyone offers you complimentary ECT, be sure you politely decline."


	9. Chapter 9

McGee sat at his desk feeling useless. He'd forgotten to set his alarm and arrived almost an hour later than Gibbs had ordered them in that morning. His lateness had gotten him the unenviable task of driving Sgt. Neal's weepy fiancée back to her apartment. He'd thought obtaining the key to Neal's apartment from her would earn him some points, but the search had yielded nothing. A subsequent search of Dr. Neal's penthouse was even less productive; an exceedingly competent maid had cleaned it since he had last been there. McGee had hoped to spend the rest of the day looking through the hard drives of the Neal brothers' computers, but the Sergeant didn't even own one and the Doctor's, a laptop from the look of his desk, was missing.

He jumped as the phone on his desk rang. "McGee."

"Legal get us anything from Callaghan yet?"

"No boss, they're stalling. They've promised to send a representative to speak with us here sometime this afternoon, but for now they won't even give us permission to enter their building."

Gibbs muttered something that McGee decided not to try to decipher. "Are they back from the hospital yet?"

As if on cue the elevator opened, filling the squad room with the sounds of an argument. "They're just walking through the door, boss."

"Good. I'll be down in five."

McGee turned his attention to his colleagues. Ducky gave him a hopeless look and shook his head. From the tone of the conversation, McGee could tell things must be proceeding as normal between Tony and Ziva, who had not even noticed him.

"She was not offering you information in exchange for sexual favors."

"Maybe not, but she was definitely hitting on me."

"Of _course_ she was." Ziva rolled her eyes as she placed her coat behind her desk. "And I suppose the woman in the purple cardigan kissed you on the cheek because she found you irresistible?"

"Yeah, what was up with her?"

"Head trauma." She gave him a light Gibbs slap. "She was a _patient_, Tony. She was petting a mop and calling it a good kitty when we were leaving."

"Huh. Oooooooh. I get it." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You're bringing up kissing again. You must have trained for years to be so sneaky in your machinations, but I'm on to you."

"On to my what?"

"See, that was another innuendo. Oh, you need kissing, badly." He slid his arm around her waist and dipped her. "That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how."

McGee wondered where Tony got the guts to try something so stupid. Accidentally brushing against her arm while walking was enough to make McGee fear for his life. Not that he was afraid she'd really hurt him – it was just the awareness that she could if he gave her a good enough reason. A reason like, say, the one Tony was giving her right now. McGee had to admit she was remaining surprisingly calm. "That has to be your worst impression yet. Now let me go."

"Say the magic word."

McGee turned on his video phone as he decided it was his turn to have some fun. "Gibbs." Within five seconds, Tony and Ziva were both on the floor in a heap. They turned to look at him. "Sorry, thought I saw Gibbs. My mistake." He shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

Ziva accepted a hand from Ducky as she rose. "I'd hate for you to have to visit the proctologist, McGee."

He stood up a little straighter. "Why?"

"I don't think you'll want to leave your phone up there." She raised an eyebrow as she looked him over. "Of course, I'm not making any judgments if leaving it wouldn't be a problem for you…"

"No!" he shouted. Forcing himself to relax a little, he continued, "I mean, that won't be necessary. I'll just put this away." He slipped the phone into his pocket, hoping he'd have time to show Abby the video later.

Ziva joined Tony, sitting on the edge of her desk, as Gibbs strode into the bullpen. "You three get anything useful at the hospital?"

"I believe we may have found a motive, Jethro," Ducky began. "Dr. Neal was being funded by Callaghan Pharmaceuticals in the development of a revolutionary new drug for the treatment of Parkinson's Disease. I spoke to one of his research partners; they're attempting to regenerate degraded synapses through the use of…"

"I'm sure Abby and Palmer will love to hear about it, Duck. You learn anything that helps us on this case?"

Ziva took over, "Dr. Franklin seemed nervous when we spoke to him. He wouldn't talk with us in his office but took us to a conference room down the hall and locked the door. Maybe Callaghan is being vigilant in protecting its investment. The hospital administrator we met with had nothing but glowing praise for the millions of dollars they've gifted to both the hospital and the university since they began utilizing the medical staff to augment their own research labs."

"Right, so we need to light a fire under legal to get us into Callaghan, ASAP. How soon was this magic drug of theirs supposed to hit the market?"

"Well, Dr, Franklin didn't say it in so many words," Ducky resumed, "but I think Callaghan may have been pushing them into clinical trials before they were entirely comfortable doing so. The drug is very complex, and they were worried about the potential side effects. He implied that an S orientation on the final nitrogen group could result in the formation of free radicals…"

"Ducky!" Gibbs growled.

"Why they don't require organic chemistry for agents continues to elude me. The point is, Callaghan wanted to see immediate returns on the investment they made in Neal's work and he may not have been ready. It's quite possible that they were trying to beat another company to the punch, as it were, and didn't feel they could afford to wait. It's a cutthroat business, Jethro."

"Except our Marine was shot and we don't know why."

"He may not have even been the target, boss. Maybe Dr. Neal knew something was up and asked his brother the big scary Marine to go with him to a meeting at Callaghan." Tony began to backtrack as Gibbs looked up, "Not that Marines are…"

Gibbs ignored him. "Do we even know if he had a meeting scheduled with them?"

"We couldn't find a date book in his office and the only schedule we found," Ziva paused as she pulled a plastic bag from her backpack, "was for patients' appointments and surgeries."

"What about his laptop?" McGee asked.

"I didn't see one."

"Don't worry, Probie." McGee winced as Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "If we don't find it I'll buy you a new pocket protector."


	10. Chapter 10

Tony didn't know how he was going to escape. They'd cut off every exit, leaving only one option. He tried to judge the distance from the top of the cliff where he stood to the water crashing below. It was easily fifty feet. He could survive it if he missed the jagged rocks. And if the sharks didn't smell his blood when he hit the water. Shouts echoed from the tree line. A bullet whistled past his ear. He jumped.

The jolt of unconscious body movement was enough to wake him. He quickly pushed himself up in his chair, shaking his head. "Just a dream," he mumbled through a yawn. As he worked a kink out of his neck, he realized that it was dark outside. He glanced at the clock in the corner of his computer's monitor. It was a little after five; he wondered how long it would take this time for his brain to readjust for daylight savings time.

He yawned again as he looked around the office. The other cubicles in the squad room didn't seem more or less active than normal. In his immediate vicinity neither Gibbs nor McGee was present. A smile spread across Tony's face as he saw Ziva at her desk, head pillowed on her arms. He stood and took a few steps toward her. "Ziva?" When she didn't respond, he moved closer and called a little louder. "Ziva?"

She continued snoring softly.

He returned to his desk and pawed through the top drawer. He suppressed a laugh when he found what he wanted. Uncapping the permanent black marker, he crept toward her sleeping form. Only one side of her face was visible. He'd have to be creative.

Just before the felt tip touched her skin, she reacted. He dropped the marker as she twisted his wrist, digging her fingers in between the bones of his forearm as she stood. The knife that was normally concealed at her waist was halfway to his throat before she was awake enough to recognize him. "Tony?"

"Yeah!" he yelped. She immediately released her grip on him. He retreated, placing her desk between them. Her response to his attempted caper had thrown him off balance. He tried to laugh it off, "Now I know how McGee feels." He didn't like the way she was looking at him, so he rambled on, "Y'know, because he's always acting like you're gonna snap and shoot someone. Not that I think he thinks you really would, just that…"

She secured her knife before interrupting him, "Why would you sneak up on me like that?"

"I didn't know you were gonna try to kill me."

She wiped the smile he had plastered on his face clean off. "This isn't a joke. Never do that again!"

"Why the hell are _you_ so angry?" He rubbed his wrist, marked by a row of four red indentations that would probably be bruises the next morning.

"I could have hurt you." He tried to call her attention to his wrist. She only shook her head. "I mean s_eriously_ hurt you." Her breathing seemed fast and shallow. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of anger and something he couldn't quite identify.

He was momentarily lost. He experienced the unfamiliar feeling of not having one thing to say: no platitude, no movie quote, no bad impression. A few people were staring at them over the partition. He spoke to them instead, "Nothing to see here. Go about your business." He could feel her gaze on him. He waited until he was sure surveillance from across the room had ceased before turning back to her.

Her expression still confused him. He regained his powers of speech when she finally closed her eyes. "Look, I wouldn't have…" He trailed off. She was watching him again.

She was suddenly touching his wrist, the one she hadn't handled so roughly. Her hold was tentative but firm. "I'm sorry, Tony."

He was unsure how to handle her sincerity. He started to babble, "No, it was my fault for surprising you and it was kind of dumb on my part to…"

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. "Don't"

"Okay." He leaned closer and whispered, "I'm sorry too." He paused to gauge the electricity in the air. He decided it had diminished enough for him to make a joke. "I guess this is why I expend all my pranking efforts on McGeek."

He found her laugh very comforting in that moment. "Does this mean you've given up on your revenge plot?"

"I almost forgot about that." He pretended to ponder the situation. "Hmm. Well, given that ambushes are out of the question, I might be willing to settle for something else. How about I let you watch some movies with me. We'll order pizza and get you caught up on the essential classics."

She tilted her head, considering the offer. "How many?"

"We'll start with the AFI top 100 list and go from there." He savored her look of wide-eyed alarm. "Okay, maybe I'll just pick five."

"Two," she countered.

"Four."

"Three. And I'll cook you dinner."

"Done." He reached over her desk to shake her hand. "You're gonna love _Blazing Saddles_."

Their handshake had already lasted far longer than necessary when they heard McGee, "I thought the third time was supposed to be the charm."

Ziva knitted her brow in bewilderment. "For what?"

"Well, this is the third time in the past day that I've seen you two like this…with the desk…and…you know, never mind. Where's Gibbs?"

"Haven't seen him since he reamed that spin doctor from Callaghan." Tony sat in his chair and spun it around several times. "Think the guy will really sue for verbal assault?"

Ziva shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't hear anything. Did you, McGee?"

"Well it was kind of hard to miss…" McGee paused until glares from Tony and Ziva helped him catch on, "the polite way Gibbs escorted him to the elevator and thanked him for his cooperation and help?"

"Too much, Probie. Just say you were on the phone and weren't paying attention if it comes to that."

"Oh, that reminds me. Abby called to say she wants to see us in her lab."

"She get any sleep today?" Tony asked as they walked to the elevator.

"I think so," McGee replied. "Her sleeping bag was rolled out in the ballistics lab."

"Good. She was freaking me out this morning. You know, more than normally."


	11. Chapter 11

Abby sighed as several of the plastic bags from the top of the large pile in her arms slid to the floor. She deposited the stack she was holding in a gray bin before bending to retrieve the ones she had dropped. "You've been nothing but trouble all day. I hope you little cancer sticks appreciate all the work I've put into you."

"Did she just call us cancer sticks?" Abby turned to see Ziva looking inquisitively at Tony and McGee.

"I think she was talking to the cigarette butts."

"Right you are, Tony. You guys scavenged a total of forty-five from that parking lot, and I've just finished printing all of them, not to mention getting DNA from each and every one. And in between I managed to go through not one but two cars."

"That sounds like a lot even for you, Abs." Gibbs stood in the door, offering her a Caf-Pow.

"Thanks, Gibbs. Hey, do you think payroll would buy it if you told them there were actually three Abby Sciutos working here?" He gave her a dubious look. "Maybe just two. We could dress up Ziva like me and make sure they see us both in here…What, no good?"

Three heads subtly shook a silent 'no.' Ziva simply shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think I'd make the best Abby. Perhaps I could just threaten someone for you?"

"That's a nice offer. I'll think about it." The email alert sounded. "Ooh, that should be our first round of DNA results." Abby clicked on the tiny unopened envelope. Instead of the well-ordered chart of genetic markers she had expected, a black and white security video began to play. Her jaw dropped as she watched.

"Good news?" McGee asked.

"You have no idea…" She displayed the footage on the large plasma so everyone could see it.

A black Mercedes pulled into a space in a dark, empty parking lot. Two passengers were vaguely visible. Nothing happened for three minutes, then the right rear window descended a few inches. A cigarette arced through the air, hitting the pavement in a shower of sparks. A moment later, glass shattered as a bullet passed through the rear window. The car backed up thirty seconds later, moving slowly toward the parking lot's exit.

It stopped at the spot where the bodies had been dumped. A figure stepped from the left rear door and walked around the back of the car. It pulled the two bodies from the car and walked slowly back to the left rear seat. When the door was shut, the car sped away.

Gibbs pointed at the plasma screen. "I wanna see who's in that car."

Abby had already started replaying the video. She highlighted and enlarged the shadow in the front passenger seat. "Sgt. Neal." Moving to the rear window, she repeated the action. "Dr. Neal." She fast-forwarded the footage, stopping on a frame featuring the person from the left rear seat. "Body dumper."

Ziva squinted at the image on the plasma. "That's Dr. Franklin, Neal's research partner." Her voice contained a note of surprise. "No wonder he was nervous when we spoke to him."

Abby continued to scan the video. "I can't find a clear frame of the driver. This may take a while Gibbs."

He leaned close to the screen, tilting and retilting his head in an attempt to see something. He grunted in frustration. "Who sent this?"

"I don't know. Someone just emailed it to me."

"McGee?"

"I'll start tracing it." His fingers clicked rapidly on the keyboard.

"Good. Let's go pick up Franklin. Tony, Ziva with me. McGee, Abby find out who sent us the video and figure out who's driving."

Two hours later, Abby pounded her fists against her keyboard. "It's impossible. I can enhance this sucker all day, but I'm not going to be able to pull up a picture of the driver. There's just not enough on the tape." She turned to look at McGee, who had withdrawn a few steps at her outburst. "How are you coming with that email?"

"Not good. Whoever sent it really covered their tracks well. I've been trying to hack the Callaghan security mainframe, too, but no luck so far."

"Gibbs is not gonna be happy. If he ever comes back, that is."

"He hasn't been gone that long."

"Do you lose track of time when you enter the matrix? They left over two hours ago. They should have grabbed Dr. Frank and come back to find out why we haven't called with case-breaking information by now."

"It's Dr. Franklin." He checked his watch. "Wow."

"I know. They should be here."

"No, I mean I can't believe I've taken so much time to do so little."

Abby exhaled forcefully. "Maybe we just need a new perspective. How do you feel about ostrich?"

"An ostrich is going to give us a fresh perspective?"

"Don't be silly. It's going to give us much needed sustenance." She walked to her refrigerator and removed a Styrofoam box. "I ordered an ostrich burger for lunch and I haven't had time to eat it yet. Want some?"

"Um…okay. I'll try it." They sat at her table. "Hmm. Not bad. Hey, wanna see the latest feature presentation on McGee TV?"

"I already know you're a nerd, McGee. There's no need to drive the point home by saying things like that."

He snapped the phone shut. "Fine. I guess it's your choice if you don't want to see Tony and Ziva falling all over each other."

"Really?! I'll upgrade your status from nerd to dork if it's worthwhile."

"What's the difference?"

"Dorks are more endearing. They're adorkable."

"Great." He pressed play and narrated, "Tony had just been doing this really cheesy Rhett Butler impression and I said 'Gibbs' like he was coming around the corner." On the tiny screen, Tony dropped Ziva on the floor and looked up in panic. She swung her legs around and swept his feet out from under him. He yowled and flailed as he crashed to the floor. They struggled for a moment to disentangle their legs. Ziva said something about reflexes as they both looked around for Gibbs.

Abby snorted. "You are so screwed, McGee."

"What? I thought it was pretty funny."

"See how funny you think it is after they shave off your eyebrows."

"I'm never falling asleep at my desk again."


	12. Chapter 12

Ziva pressed her hand over her mouth when she found that she was unable to stifle a yawn. Her catnap had done little to relieve the fatigue that had been steadily settling into her muscles since early in the afternoon. She reflected that she might feel more refreshed if not for the rude awakening she had endured.

She glanced over her shoulder. Asleep with his head tilted back on the headrest, Tony was in the back seat, his mouth hanging open. She was tempted to try flicking pennies into it, but the memory of her earlier actions stopped her. Nothing about them had involved thought; her body had simply sensed a threat and responded. She wouldn't admit that she'd come terrifyingly close to cutting his throat. She was pleased when his take-home lesson turned out to be 'don't sneak up on Ziva.' The consequences of his internalizing 'Ziva could kill you' were more disquieting than she cared to consider. She decided to let him sleep.

She faced forward again, watching Gibbs argue with the guard in the small security building at the entrance of the gated community Dr. Marvin Franklin called home. They'd gone to the hospital, navigating its maze of corridors with considerably more success, only to find that he had gone to lunch and never returned. The administrator who had met with Ziva and Ducky had begrudgingly given them Franklin's home address. Not that it was doing them much good.

The security guard was waving his arms over his head in the manner one would use to attract the attention of a passing ocean liner if one were trapped on a desert island. Ziva laughed as a tiny golf cart with an orange strobe responded to his frantic summons. Tony stirred behind her, muttering, "On your six."

"Tony?"

"Wasn't me." He shifted slightly.

She pinched his knee gently. "Tony?"

"I didn't touch your ass!" he half-shouted as his eyes shot open. "Ziva…I, uh, you…I was dreaming."

"You certainly were," she replied, looking at him significantly. She loved watching his discomfiture under her gaze sometimes. She'd never been able to sustain the upper hand with so little effort – at least not with someone she considered worth dominating. She often wondered if he was playing the same game she was or if things were just unfolding like this.

Her train of thought and their stare both broke when Gibbs yanked the car door open. "They're letting us in on the condition that Gary Coleman over there comes with us."

"_Nice_ pop culture reference, boss. What you talkin' bout, Willis?" He looked at them both expectantly but was disappointed. "Is he coming with us or are we going in the golf cart?"

"We're following him," Gibbs answered.

Five minutes later, Tony tapped Ziva's shoulder. "Wanna get out and walk?"

She turned to look and found that he was leaning forward, his chin almost resting on the shoulder he'd just touched. "You're always complaining about Gibbs and my driving. Why don't you just enjoy the ride?"

"He complains about my driving?"

"Not at all, boss." Tony leaned back. "I was just saying that it's kind of embarrassing when the squirrels are going faster than we are."

"I don't think the rodents are judging us, DiNozzo. And anyway, we're here."

The security guard was already ambling up the front walk of a rather large home. The three NCIS agents jogged past him, ignoring his objections. Gibbs knocked sharply on the door. It creaked slightly as it swung open without warning. Gibbs removed his gun from its holster, prompting Tony and Ziva to follow suit. He stepped into the foyer, glancing left and right before beckoning to his agents. Ziva made eye contact with him as he pointed her up the stairs.

She entered the house with Tony at her side, focusing on the staircase as he broke to the right. Keeping her body low, she rapidly ascended the stairs. The hallway had a short section to the right and a longer one to the left. She stepped into the first door on her right, a bathroom. Clear. The next door led to what appeared to be a guest bedroom with a small closet. Clear. She entered the third room, an office. It was empty, but something felt wrong. She glanced around. No computer. That couldn't be a coincidence.

A woman's scream suddenly filled the house. Ziva tightened her grip on her gun as she sprinted back to the stairs. Concerned only for the safety of the person in distress, she balanced lightly on the curving banister and let gravity take over. Her momentum carried her forward when her feet hit the floor. The noise was coming from the kitchen in the back of the house. She stopped short of a blood pool, barely maintaining her balance as Tony collided with her back.

Gibbs stood on the other side of the kitchen, pulling the security guard away from their crime scene. "Either of you recognize him?" He pointed to the body lying in large pool of blood on the white tile.

"Yes. It's Dr. Franklin," Ziva replied. The man still looked nervous, despite the fact that he was sprawled across his kitchen floor, dead. She leaned forward, keeping her feet planted to avoid stepping forward and contaminating the crime scene. Other than the obvious, the kitchen looked spotless and normal. A small object in the corner caught her eye. She couldn't make it out with the lights off. It was a squarish lump. With tassels? A sofa cushion?

Tony grabbed the back of her windbreaker just as she was about to lose her balance. Her back made contact with his chest for the second time since they'd entered the kitchen. The little incidental contact didn't mean anything. She'd certainly been closer to him. She still enjoyed it. "Thanks."

"Anytime." His hand released her jacket but lingered on her back.

Gibbs didn't pay any attention to their inadvertent rapport. "Tony, call the locals. Ziva, call Ducky." He spared a disgusted look for the security guard. "Maybe you should go back to your little cart."

The man nodded weakly and stumbled toward the front door. Ziva pressed her third most used speed dial number. A sleepy voice answered, "Donald Mallard."

"Sorry to disturb you, Ducky."

"Aaah, Ziva. It's never an imposition. What can I do for you?"

"We've got another body connected to the Neal case."

"Not another brother?"

"No." She hesitated. "I'm afraid it's Dr. Franklin."

"You're kidding." He paused. "He seemed like a brilliant man. He might really have made a difference. Well, you might as well give me the address."

She hung up a few minutes later, walking back to the threshold of the kitchen. Gibbs still stood in the space between the island and kitchen proper. "First impressions?"

"Not a suicide?"

"Nice work, DiNozzo."

Ziva tried not to giggle; giggling was out of character for her. He brought out the worst…no, a different side of her. Her eyes flitted back to the unidentified object in the corner. "I think the killer used a homemade silencer."

"Oh?" Gibbs questioned. His tone contained no disbelief, just need for confirmation.

"It looks like there's a couch cushion over there." She pointed toward the corner. "The killer fired through it to muzzle the noise of the gunshot."

"Muffle," Tony corrected softly. His voice felt very close to her ear.

Gibbs didn't notice. "Do we have booties and gloves in the car?"

"We have gloves but no booties, boss," Tony replied. "Should I call McGee to bring the truck?"

"Yeah. Wait, no. He hasn't called us about the source of that email yet. We'll just wait 'til Ducky gets here."

"Tony could help me clear the rest of the second floor in the meantime, Gibbs," Ziva suggested.

"Do that. Then do the basement."

Ziva eyed Tony before moving toward the stairs. "I'd cleared the rooms to the right when the guard, um, informed us about the situation downstairs."

"You can say it. It was a girly scream." She was halfway up the flight of stairs before he noted, "By the way, nice work on the banister there, BatGirl."

She almost tripped on the last stair as she turned to smile at him. "I do what I can. I suggest we clear the rooms to the left, then recheck the ones to the right."


	13. Chapter 13

Tony groaned as he opened the door of the last room at the end of the hall. He stepped over several Matchbox cars and assorted action figures as he poked his head into the closet. He jumped backward as someone lunged at him. The tip of his gun contacted the inflatable punching clown right on its big red nose. He let out the breath he'd been holding and gave the clown a solid smack for good measure. "Damn clown." Walking back to the hall, he saw Ziva emerging from the next door. "All clear. Kid's room. The guy has a kid."

"He has three, Tony." She pointed to a family portrait hanging over a spindly-legged hallway table. A smiling Dr. Franklin sat, surrounded by a smiling wife and three smiling children, two girls and a boy.

"They look happy."

"Happy families are all alike, as they say."

He considered for a moment before asking, "Have you accomplished the impossible task of quoting a movie I haven't seen?"

"It may be in a movie, but I'm actually referring to the novel."

"You seem to be very well-read for an international secret agent. When did you have time to snuggle up with a good book? Did you set aside an hour in the imperial library between the dry martinis at happy hour and the grand ball in the evening?"

She rolled her eyes. "We're not going through the James Bond thing again. A lot of my work involved surveillance. Have you ever done a, what do they call it on your police shows? A…beef-out? No, that's not right…"

"Stakeout. Cops go on stakeouts. And it's stake, like through the vampire's heart, not steak, like, I'll have mine medium rare."

"Right, stakeout. Very tedious sometimes, yes?"

"Yup. Lot of waiting. And watching." They had yet to move from the family portrait. He exhaled forcefully. "Good thing they weren't here when it happened."

"I somehow doubt they'll take much comfort in that." She cocked her head as she inspected the photo. "They live with their mother."

"And you know this how?"

She pointed to the room she'd cleared last. "Teenage girl's room. Enough clothes in the closet and drawers for about a week, and no shoes. And one entire side of the walk-in closet in the master bedroom is bare. He's a neurologist with a busy career, treating patients and doing research and it just got to be too much for her to stay at home with the kids and never see him, so she asked for a divorce."

"You got all that from looking in a few closets?" She winked at him before walking back toward the stairs. They were on the ground floor before he smacked himself in the forehead. "Franklin told you all that when you talked to him."

"Now _that's_ using your investigating skills." They rounded the end of the stairs on their way back to the kitchen to check in with Gibbs.

He was on the phone. "That's good work, Tim. Why don't you come down here with the truck." He snapped the phone shut, turning to his two agents. "Anything?"

"Yeah, looks like whoever was here took some stuff from the office."

"Stuff, DiNozzo?"

"There is a monitor, mouse and keyboard, but no CPU," Ziva said. Gibbs looked at her quizzically. "CPU, that's the big box that everything plugs into."

"Be glad you got the technical description from her and not McGee, boss." Tony grinned.

Gibbs shined his flashlight through the plate glass of the back door. "Does it look anything like that, DiNozzo?"

Illuminated in the beam was a smashed black box that had lately been a computer. "Uh, not ideally." Ziva made a face at him. "Good thing McGee is on his way to provide critical care. Hey, if he's coming here does that mean we know where the email came from?"

"Security office in the Callaghan building. We're going there as soon as we finish up here. Anything else I should know about from upstairs?"

Ziva continued to look at Tony sardonically as she replied, "The lock on the file cabinet was forced, but we have no way of knowing what, if anything, was taken. Everything else looks to be in order."

"All right. Ducky should be here soon. You two go sweep the basement. Second door on the left." He pointed to a hallway off the kitchen.

"How do you know that's the basement, boss?"

Gibbs shook his head in irritation. "Because it's the only door down here that doesn't lead to a closet or a bathroom. Go!"

Ziva was already standing at the door. "If it's full of cleaning products, we'll know we picked the wrong one." She opened the door and flicked a light switch, illuminating both the stairway and the room below. "Oh look, basement." She paused before descending the carpeted stairs. "You smell something?"

He'd yet to step back after almost colliding with her yet again. "Yeah. Do you use Herbal Essences?"

She huffed and walked cautiously down the stairs, gun drawn. He followed her, deciding that he preferred the view when she was going up stairs. She paused again when she reached the floor. He peeked over her shoulder. "Damn, that's a big TV." Looking the other way, he noted, "Pool table and wet bar, too? This is one hell of a rec room."

She pointed across the room at the couch. "There." He aimed his gun and decided he probably wouldn't need it to defend them from the little pile of black material she was indicating.

* * *

Ziva crouched by the overstuffed sectional. A small, charred pile glowed with a few dying embers. "I knew I smelled something burning."

Tony poked the ashes with the tip of his gun. "I guess someone wanted to destroy some papers."

"Hence the fire."

He met her stare with a look of displeasure that soon turned into a reluctant grin. "I meant that maybe whatever disappeared from the file cabinet upstairs ended up in our little campfire down here."

"You had to bring up the campfires?"

"What, you don't miss them?" She gave him the most bemused look she could muster. "Okay, _you_ don't, but I bet McGee does."

"Make sure you ask him first thing when he gets here." She stood, looking toward the rear wall of the room. There were four closed doors.

Tony pointed at each one in turn. "Water heater and furnace, laundry, bathroom, evil clown."

She placed her hand on the knob of the first door, but didn't turn it. "Evil clown?"

"Don't ask." He took up his position and nodded. She swiftly yanked the door open. "Oh, one for one. Bathroom!"

"You said this would be the furnace."

She regarded him as he opened the medicine cabinet. "I wasn't picking the specific doors, just the possible contents of the rooms."

"Sure."

"Fine. Next one's the laundry room. You owe me lunch if I'm right."

She stepped closer, getting in his face. "And when you're wrong?"

"_If_," he corrected. "You get the satisfaction of a moral victory." She pinched the skin of his inner arm through his jacket. "Okay, okay, I'll buy you lunch."

She grasped the knob of the second door. "Something that I consider lunch, too, not just one of your greasy burgers."

"It's not gonna matter because…" He nodded and she pulled the door open. "Damn. Furnace."

"Excellent." She patted his cheek as she stepped into the small room to check behind the heating equipment. "I've heard good things about that new Indonesian place across from the Navy Yard."

He frowned as she stepped back into the main room. "New deal. If the _next_ room is the laundry room, I'll still buy you lunch, but it'll be from that deli we like."

"Fair enough." For the third time, she wrenched the door open while he aimed his weapon.

"Yes! Laundry! I mean, laundry room. Clear." He looked at her warily. "You know what that leaves, right?"

"Evil clown? Do you want to open the door while I take point?"

"No, no. I've seen a horror movie or two. I should be able to protect you from the unimaginable ghastliness lurking just beyond this thin panel of wood composite." He was doing what sounded like a bad impression of an actor she couldn't quite recall. She tensed in spite of herself as she pulled the final door open. She actually flinched when he let out a brief but melodramatic shriek.

Looking into the small closet, she lowered her gun before giving him a healthy punch in the arm. "It's a safe."

"Yes. A safe. On a table." He gave her a maddening grin. "Not an evil clown."

"I could paint a red nose on it if it will make you feel better." She was aware of some stiffness in her tone. His little scream had apparently rattled her more than she'd originally thought. She tried to shake it off by scanning the room again. Clear.

He holstered his gun as he leaned forward to examine the large metal box. "Looks like tool marks." He indicated several shiny scratches in the dull metal near the bolt. "Can you get in there?"

She bent to examine the safe. "I doubt it."

"I'd have thought this would be easy for a veteran locksmith such as yourself."

She smiled as she reached into her pocket and produced a pair of handcuffs. "I guess you haven't learned your lesson."

"Oh, you're not fooling me with that one again."

"So you didn't like being handcuffed? I'll remember that." She watched him fidget as she took longer than necessary to look him up and down.

He tried to distract her by patting the top of the safe. "So why can't you crack this bad boy?"

"It's got a digital lock. Abby or McGee should be able to get into it."

Tony suddenly stood up straight. "Hey, did you hear…"

The sound of a gunshot filled the underground room. Ziva's eyes widened as a bullet clanged against the safe. Even more surprising was the blood splatter that accompanied it. The bullet dropped to the floor, apparently not having hit the safe with sufficient force to embed itself.

Time slowed as she turned, swinging her gun up in a graceful arc. Tony had dropped to his knees as he tugged his gun from its holster. She had fired three times before he managed to level it. The bullets seemed to hang in the air as they traveled toward the shooter. She willed them to go faster, to catch up before they missed him. He was going to get away before her shots had a chance to hit him. He was already on the first step, the second…

The man's corpse was sliding back down the stairs when she slowly knelt, letting go of her gun and pressing her hands over the bloody exit wound on her lower abdomen. "Nobody shoots _me_, you son of a bitch."


	14. Chapter 14

A/n: Sorry for the wait. I'd have held back lucky chapter 13 if I'd known FFN was going to slip into a coma and prevent me from uploading documents for a week.

* * *

The sound of the first gunshot took Gibbs by surprise. Still, he was already sprinting for the basement when the din of further gunfire erupted. Taking no notice of anything but his path to the basement door, he nearly slipped when his foot lost traction in the blood pool surrounding Dr. Franklin's body. He didn't even take a moment to recover his balance, careening forward with increased rapidity. The shooting had stopped, but he was even more worried now. There were no shouts, no sounds of movement. Just silence.

He skidded to a stop in front of the door. The body of a man was sprawled at the foot of the stairs, his glassy eyes staring vacantly toward his unattained escape. A gun was loosely gripped in his right hand.

As he descended the stairs, Gibbs relaxed slightly; he could now hear both Tony and Ziva's voices.

"Tony, don't."

"I'm trying to help."

"I know. Don't. Just hang onto this for me."

Gibbs tensed as he realized something was seriously wrong. "Gibbs, coming down," he called. He couldn't see his two agents until he awkwardly maneuvered himself over the dead body to reach the floor.

"Boss, call an ambulance." Tony didn't look at him but stayed focused on Ziva. She was doubled over, clutching her stomach. Tony had one hand under her jacket, somewhere on her lower back. His other covered both of hers, pressing her abdomen. Bright red blood seeped between his fingers, trickling down to soak into the cream-colored carpet.

Gibbs scanned the basement fleetingly as he dialed. He grabbed a stack of dishtowels from behind the bar and tossed them to Tony. He swore as his phone failed to connect. "I can't get a signal down here."

Tony didn't seem to hear. He was trying to get Ziva to sit back, gently pulling up on her shoulders. When he had her sitting against the wall, he unzipped her jacket. He carefully pulled it away from the wound, murmuring for her to stay still. The amount of blood that had stained her light gray sweater prompted Gibbs to head for the stairs.

He paused just after scrambling over the dead shooter. Someone was moving around upstairs. He raised his gun in anticipation. A voice carried down the stairs, "Hello? This is Rosslyn PD. Agent Gibbs? Are you here?"

Gibbs holstered his weapon and shouted, "In the basement. I've got a wounded agent."

A uniformed policeman appeared at the head of the stairs. His radio crackled as he rapidly demanded aid. "Request assistance at one-one-eight-seven Orchard Drive. Officer down, repeat, officer down."

Gibbs jumped back over the corpse. He raised his camera and snapped three pictures before seizing the man's ankles and dragging him off to the side. The officer had come halfway down the steps. "Bus is on the way, sir, ETA ten minutes."

"Good." He turned back to his agents. Tony had managed to remove Ziva's jacket completely and apply the dishtowels as temporary compresses. Her face was ashen, but she was still talking. Gibbs couldn't hear what she was saying, but it drew a smile from Tony.

"You're gonna be on all Jell-O and ice cream for a while, I think." He turned his head as Gibbs approached. "Help coming, boss?"

"Yeah." Gibbs eyed the stairs, imagining trying to get a gurney down then back up. "Can you carry her?"

"Yeah, boss, but you'll have to keep pressure on the wounds."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," she said in a near-whisper. "I can walk."

She struggled weakly to rise as Gibbs took Tony's position, pressing the towels against her stomach and back. He tried not to notice that the ones in front had already soaked through. "You're not walking anywhere."

She gave him what would have been a withering look if not for wince that followed it. "Gibbs, I'm not…"

"Ziva, we're the last people you need to convince how tough you are."

Tony grunted as he lifted her into his arms. "Besides, how many chances do you think you're gonna get to question my strength and conditioning as I carry you up a flight of stairs?"

Her shaky laugh quickly changed into a cough. They stopped talking as the moved up the stairs, Gibbs ascending backward in order to maintain his hold on the makeshift bandages. As they emerged from the back hallway, he heard a familiar voice.

"I'm the Medical Examiner, officer, and Agent Gibbs will not be pleased when he finds out…"

"Ducky, get over here!"

"As I said, officer, my presence is perfectly…Oh!" Ducky exclaimed as he rounded the corner and caught sight of Ziva in Tony's arms. "My dear, what happened to you?"

"Gunshot," Gibbs replied for her. "Paramedics are on the way. Do whatever you can until they get here."

Ducky replaced Gibbs at her side, gingerly lifting the saturated towels. He grimaced, saying, "Mr. Palmer, fetch some dressings from the van."

Jimmy stood back a few paces, wide-eyed and staring. "Is she going to be okay, Dr. Mallard?"

"I don't know, Mr. Palmer, but I do know that, unlike most of our patients, she cannot wait while you satisfy your insatiable curiosity. Dressings, now!"

Gibbs watched the young assistant race out the door. He tried to wipe his hand on his coat, but found he was only smearing the blood around. A siren wailed in the distance. He sighed and rubbed his hand hard against his pants before taking his cell phone from his pocket. He had a signal now.

* * *

Cynthia stared at the closed door of Director Shepard's office. The Undersecretary of Defense and Director of the CIA had been inside for more than two hours and she was getting tired of fielding calls from their functionaries, demanding to speak to their bosses, posthaste. She didn't know why they couldn't accept that no, she couldn't interrupt the meeting and no, she didn't know when it would be over.

The phone rang only once. Her tone was less cordial that normal when she answered, "Director Shepard's office."

"Cynthia, put me through."

She sighed with frustration knowing that, of all the people who had called the office that night, he was the least likely to be deterred. "I'm sorry Agent Gibbs, but she's in a meeting and asked not to be disturbed, not even by you. Or maybe she said _especially_ not by…"

He cut her off, "Officer David's been shot."

Cynthia inhaled sharply. This wouldn't be considered an intrusion. "Hold while I put you through." Out of habit she waited for the blinking red light to assure herself that she hadn't unintentionally hung up. She took a deep breath and buzzed the Director. Not surprisingly, the summons went unanswered. Rather than trying again, she walked quietly to the door. She knocked and entered without waiting for an acknowledgement.

Shepard was seated at the head of her small conference table, looking at her expectantly. Cynthia proceeded directly to her. She leaned forward and quietly stated, "We have an emergency. Agent Gibbs is on the line." At an incredulous look from Shepard, she lowered her voice even further. "Officer David has been shot."

"Gentlemen!" Shepard declared, abruptly standing. "We'll have to continue this at some other time."

The two men chose not to argue with the finality in her tone and begrudgingly collected their papers. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Cynthia pressed the speaker button of the SoundStation on the conference table. Shepard didn't question her continued presence as she addressed Agent Gibbs. "Jethro, what happened?"

"The short version, Jen? We got jumped at a crime scene. Ziva's been shot. Paramedics are just walking through the door."

Cynthia knew Shepard wouldn't be wringing her hands the way she was if Gibbs were standing in front of her. "It's serious or you wouldn't be calling me so promptly."

"She's lost a lot of blood. But we've got another problem."

"The shooter got away."

"No. He'll be returning with Ducky. It's just that I've got an active crime scene and I need my team here…"

Shepard was nodding knowingly. "I'd have met her at the hospital anyway. Which one?"

Gibbs called to someone, "Hey, where are you taking her?" The reply was indecipherable, but he repeated it. "Georgetown. I'll let her know you're coming."

"Thank you, Jethro." Shepard pressed the disconnect button herself. "Cynthia, I'm sorry to have kept you so late. If you could just arrange a car for me…"

"Of course, Director." She paused in the doorway. "Shall I get Tel Aviv on the line?"

"No. Not until we know her condition." Shepard sat heavily in the chair behind her desk, sweeping some papers into a drawer.

"I'm sure she's going to be fine."

"Of course she is, Cynthia. My car?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

Something seemed off to McGee as he slammed the door of the truck and jumped out of the way of an ambulance that was pulling away from the house. Ambulance? That was weird. Gibbs had given him the impression that Franklin was dead enough not to merit a visit from the paramedics. He shrugged his shoulders; the local cops might have called them in.

He grabbed four bags from the rear of the truck and schlepped them up to the house, wondering why no one had been keeping an eye out for him. Plenty of neighbors in various states of dress had managed to gather outside. He could certainly use some help with all the gear. A uniformed officer at the door nodded him in. "You're NCIS, too? Guess you're late for a hell of scene."

He knitted his eyebrows and frowned. "Yeah, wish I could have been here."

The officer regarded him strangely as he passed.

McGee dropped the bags in the foyer and looked around for Gibbs. Pulling protective booties over his shoes, he listened for voices. Gibbs and Tony sounded like they were talking somewhere off to the right; Ducky's accent was audible from further away. He decided to follow the muffled conversation, pausing in the doorway of a living room. With his notebook out, Gibbs was sitting in a wooden chair in front of Tony on the couch. "What happened then?"

McGee was stunned to see that Tony's hands appeared to be covered in blood. Why hadn't he gone with the ambulance if he was hurt? McGee remained silent, listening. "There was a, a, I don't know, a cubbyhole under the stairs, like a little storage space where you shove the Christmas decorations. We didn't even see it. We were looking at the safe and we had our backs to the stairs. We never even noticed it was there. I mean, the side of the stairs have that paneling on them and it blended in, couldn't even see the hinges."

"Tony…" In his head, McGee thanked Gibbs for trying to get Tony back on track. He'd heard enough to know something bad had happened, but not enough to find out what it was.

Tony rubbed his chin, leaving a wet red mark. He wouldn't be so careless with someone else's blood, would he? McGee wanted to clear his throat, let them know he was there so he could find out what had happened, but something stopped him as Tony began to speak again. "The safe looked like someone tried to force it and we were looking at that and he just popped out. We thought the room was clear." His voice conveyed none of its usual confidence. "We should have thought to check…_I_ should have…do they even have those cubbies in Israel? Maybe she didn't even know it could have been there and I just didn't think to check it and…"

McGee had finally heard enough. "Boss, what happened to Ziva?"

Gibbs didn't turn away from Tony. "Bad guy shot her, Tim. She's on her way to the hospital."

"But don't worry, Probie." McGee was taken aback by the odd glint in Tony's eyes. "He got the worse end of the deal." The amusement in his voice had an awful gloom in it. He looked back at Gibbs. "He aimed at her first. I turned and he was aiming at her. Why didn't he shoot me first? I was right there. You'd have shot me first, right boss?"

"Yeah, Tony. Just for different reasons." Gibbs smiled kindly and placed a hand on Tony's shoulder.

His demeanor changed slightly. "Thanks, boss."

"Right then. Let's get to work. McGee, there's a smashed CUP on the back patio."

"CPU," he amended automatically. He wanted to ask how badly Ziva had been hurt, if she was going to be all right, who had shot her, but Gibbs' tone declared the topic closed for the moment.

Gibbs had ignored his correction. "Bag it so you can take it back to Abby and put it back together. Once you've done that take the office upstairs. Tony, go clean up in the truck, then take the kitchen. I'll take the basement."

"Boss, I should probably take…"

"The kitchen, DiNozzo. And the bloody footprints leading from the kitchen to the basement are mine."

McGee turned in the direction of the smashed computer on the back porch and mentally amended what he'd said to the officer earlier. He did _not_ wish he could have been there.


	15. Chapter 15

Abby ran through the squad room as fast as she could in her platform boots. She couldn't figure out why no one was around. It was late, but someone should have brought her evidence from the crime scene. McGee had left hours ago. She stopped just outside the elevator, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. She'd gotten very little sleep in the past few days; it was entirely possible she'd dreamed him being called to a scene. Of course, that would mean she hadn't just cracked the case and there was no reason for her to be excited. And she liked being excited.

She leaped out of the elevator when she spotted Ducky outside Autopsy. "Ducky! Finally! I can't find anyone, and I mean _anyone_! No one's in the squad room and everybody's phones are going straight to voicemail. I couldn't even get _Gibbs_. Isn't never being out of touch rule number five or something?"

"I believe it's three." Ducky surveyed her seriously, inducing her to stop bouncing. "Abigail, has no one told you?"

"Told me what?" He was leading her by the hand, pressing her into the chair by his desk.

"Ziva was shot at the scene."

"No!" She was instantly on her feet. "Ducky, no! Is she okay?"

"Well, she's…"

Abby cut him off with an ear-piercing scream. Palmer and three assistants had just come through the automatic doors into the morgue, pushing gurneys with black body bags on top. She dug her nails into Ducky's shoulders as she squeezed him tightly. "No, no, no! This can't be happening again, Ducky! Not again!"

"Abby, Ziva is in the hospital."

She relaxed her hold, but didn't let go. "You're sure?"

"Yes, I bandaged her up a bit myself and saw her go into the ambulance."

"So it isn't serious if you fixed her at the scene." Abby settled down even more. "And you're sure she's not dead?" She glanced suspiciously at the body bags being lifted onto autopsy tables.

He frowned slightly, but quickly altered his expression. "You can meet my two new patients if you'd like."

"I trust you, Ducky."

He looked at her over the rims of his glasses and smiled benevolently. "Why don't I show you anyway?"

"I might feel better if you did." She smiled back and took the arm he gallantly offered.

"Mr. Palmer, if you would…" Jimmy unzipped the first bag, revealing a middle-aged man. "This is Dr. Marvin Franklin."

"He looks better in person. Aside from being dead. I recognize him from the security video of the shooting."

"Yes, he was found in his own kitchen when Gibbs went to bring him in for questioning regarding that very incident." Ducky led her to the second table, nodding to Jimmy again. "And this is…"

Abby's eyes got very wide. "Retired Lieutenant Commander Brian Evans!"

He gaped at her in amazement. "I was going to say Naval Officer John Doe. He didn't have any identification on his body, with the notable exception of an Academy ring. How do you know who he is?"

"He's in the video we got of the murders! Well, his hand is. But the class ring is the important thing. He's from the US Naval Academy, class of 1978. I just had to look up the class photo and look really, really hard at everybody's hands. I'd narrowed it down to him or Marine Captain Jacob McFadden, but McFadden has a really good alibi – killed in action in Desert Storm."

"I'm sure Gibbs will be pleased to hear that when he gets back. That you've identified the man, I mean, not about that other poor boy."

"Gibbs will be thrilled because I've got even more! Evans is currently employed as a middle management type at Zangent Research Labs, who have reportedly been working on their own Parkinson's drug. Maybe Zangent killed Dr. Neal and Dr. Frank to stop them from getting their drug out!"

"I suppose it's possible."

Abby continued inspecting the dead man's body. "Wow. Three rounds in his chest and they all went through the breast pocket of his shirt! Who's been practicing on the pistol range?"

"I believe it was Ziva."

Hearing her name reminded Abby that Ziva had been sent to the hospital. "So did she get grazed by a bullet or something?"

"No." He paused ominously. "It was more serious."

"How much more serious? Ducky, you said you bandaged her up!"

"I did what I could to staunch the blood flow. We really won't know much about her condition until she gets out of surgery. Director Shepard is at the hospital and…"

"Surgery? How bad was she?"

He sighed, sitting in his chair. "She was shot in the lower back, a through and through, leaving a large exit wound. With the amount of blood loss…"

The intonation he was using was too familiar for Abby to endure. "Stop, Ducky. Stop talking like you're performing an autopsy!"

"I apologize, my dear." He stood, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "I suppose we all have our own ways of dealing with trauma."

They both looked left as the doors whooshed open and Tony stepped into the morgue. His eyes focused on the open body bag containing Evans before sweeping the rest of the room. "Abby, McGee's got stuff for you in the lab." He turned to leave.

Abby ran after him before he could get away, grabbing his arm. He allowed her to spin him but wouldn't return the hug she confined him in. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He tried to pull away but she maintained her hold.

When she finally released him she realized that his appearance did nothing to support his assertion that he was fine. His jeans were stained with large red blotches and a slash of red marred his jaw-line. "Oh, Tony, you're bleeding!" She attempted to touch his face.

"I'm not." He brushed her off. "It's not mine. I have to go. Gibbs is waiting for me and I have to change."

"Tony, wait. Tony!" Abby shouted, still concerned by the amount of blood she'd seen on him. "Ziva's gonna be fine. It's not the same. It's not like Kate."

He whirled and faced her with an expression she'd never seen him wear. "No, no it's not the same, because this guy wasn't five-hundred yards away, he was ten feet away. He hid under the stairs and listened to us talking and when our backs were turned he shot her," he shouted, slamming his hand on the nearest autopsy table, the one occupied by the body of the shooter.

"This is _not_ your fault, Tony." She tried to hug him again.

He shied away from the contact, bumping against a portable table in his retreat. He forcefully flipped the metal tray on top and sent it crashing to the floor. No one spoke as the instruments clattered to a stop halfway across the room. His right hand clenched and unclenched; an object trailing a delicate gold chain remained clasped in his left. He eventually turned and said, "I'd just told her I'd protect her." A brooding expression came over his face. "And the bastard heard me. He shot her because he figured I wouldn't follow him if I was concerned about her." He gave a desolate laugh. "It's not the same because it's my fault. I could have stopped this, and not just in some slow motion action movie scene way. I really could have stopped this."

Ducky seized his shoulders and shook him roughly. "Anthony DiNozzo, you listen to me. The man lying on that autopsy table is the only person responsible for shooting Ziva, and you have already given him what he deserves. And Ziva is going to survive because you were there to look after her. You did take care of her. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

"Yeah," he replied, his gaze drifting from Ducky to the dead man. "Lemme know how many rounds from my gun you get out of him." He swept Ducky's hands from his shoulders. "Gibbs is waiting for me to go with him to Callaghan. McGee's waiting in your lab, Abby."

"I have to talk to Gibbs before you go. I've got an ID on the dead guy."

He had stopped in the door to listen to her. He didn't turn around. "He's in the squad room." The doors hissed closed behind him.

Abby turned to Ducky. "He's freaking out. She must be bad."

"Chin up, Abby. When Ziva recovers, so will he."

She didn't have the heart to question him with an 'if.'


	16. Chapter 16

Tony sat at his desk typing idly as he looked up information. After talking to Abby, Gibbs had cancelled their trip to Callaghan in favor of exploring their new lead. So far, Tony had discovered that Zaftigs was a Jewish deli in Boston and Zagnut was a toasted coconut and peanut butter candy bar. He'd decided someone else was likely to come up with something meaningful about Zangent Research Labs. He could keep himself busy in the meantime.

Zanzibar was an island off the east coast of Africa and home to a unique species of red colobus monkeys.

McGee and Abby had no trouble cracking the safe. They'd wiped it clean before opening it. It contained some of Dr. Franklin's research notes, ten thousand dollars in cash, a diamond ring from Tiffany&Co. and a letter from Zangent asking him to come work for them. They were planning on putting the computer back together the next day.

Zapata was an early 20th century peasant revolutionary.

Brian Evans' car had been recovered less than a block from Franklin's house. Dr. Neal's laptop was found in a leather briefcase in the trunk. Franklin's prints were lifted from the passenger side door and console. McGee had also bagged a pair of size eight Nike running sneakers at Franklin's house. The soles matched the prints from the roadside where they'd found the Mercedes. They did not yet know the degree of Dr. Franklin's involvement or complicity. His ex-wife had been devastated. Or so Gibbs had said.

Zazaki was a language spoken in eastern Turkey.

Ducky had recorded a total of five bullet entry wounds on Evans. He had taken only four bullets from the body. The three tightly grouped chest wounds were confirmed to _her_ weapon. A bullet from the upper thigh came from Tony's. Gibbs found the fifth bullet lodged in the wall behind the staircase. It had passed through Evans' back and gone straight out through his stomach. That bullet had also matched Tony's weapon.

Zebus were any of a genus of cows with humps and wattles.

Tony had changed into a pair of gray cargo pants and a maroon shirt. He'd stuffed his blue striped shirt, jeans and NCIS windbreaker into plastic bags and taken them to Abby's lab in case they needed to be catalogued as evidence. He didn't mind losing the jeans and the jacket wasn't technically his, but the shirt was one of his favorites. He'd apologized to Abby for being an asshole in the morgue. She'd hugged him and told him he didn't have to apologize for anything. Her eyes had been teary. He'd insisted on the necessity and sincerity of his apology. She'd hugged him again and he'd left to go to the bathroom. No matter how many times he washed his hands, he could still feel _her_ warm blood on them. He washed them again.

Zenith made HDTVs with lightening bolt logos.

Director Shepard's assistant Cynthia had wandered into the squad room looking for an update. She'd been asleep on the couch across from her desk since Shepard had left for the hospital. Gibbs had given her a cup of coffee and told her to go home. She'd gone back upstairs to the couch.

Zeppelin invented the zeppelin.

The CEO of Callaghan Pharmaceuticals had called Gibbs personally and explained that he had ordered his security staff to send NCIS the parking lot footage after speaking with the representative he'd sent to them earlier. He wanted to make nice and prove that Callaghan had nothing to do with the deaths of the Neal brothers. The news of Dr. Franklin's death had come as a surprise. Gibbs had thanked him for calling and told him they'd be in touch. He wasn't letting Callaghan off the hook yet.

Zeta was the sixth letter of the Greek alphabet.

Tony had spotted his black marker by the bookcase behind _her_ desk. He'd stared at it for a while before finally deciding to pick it up. It had worked when he'd tested it on the back of his hand. He'd still tossed it in the nearest garbage can, full of used Kleenex from Maureen Thompson's visit.

Zeus turned into a swan when he impregnated Leda and set the stage for the Trojan War.

At three in the morning, Jimmy Palmer had placed a turkey sandwich wrapped in wax paper on Tony's desk and left without saying a word. Tony had called the morgue twenty minutes later to thank him. They'd had a brief conversation about the weather and the Redskins. The sandwich was untouched in the top drawer of his desk.

Zinc had an atomic mass of 65.41 grams per mole.

McGee had been in the lab all night. He hadn't said anything to Tony since before they'd left for Franklin's house. Tony assumed McGee would agree with him concerning where responsibility rested.

Zip codes had first been implemented nationally in the 1960's.

The bullets that had killed the Neal brothers and Dr. Franklin all matched the gun Evans had been carrying. Two bullets Gibbs dug out of the wall and doorframe of the safe closet also matched. The bullet that had passed through _her_ stomach had been too damaged when it impacted the safe to make a definite match. Eyewitness testimony would only be necessary for filing the proper paperwork. Charges couldn't be filed against a dead man.

Ziti was his least favorite pasta shape, despite its seventh place popularity ranking.

The phone on Gibbs' desk rang twice before he answered it. "Gibbs." He listened, making noises of understanding or agreement every so often. He was also nodding a lot. "Thanks, Jen." He hung up. Tony stared at his monitor as he pretended he hadn't been waiting for that call. The points of the tiny gold Star of David dug into his hand as he clutched it tightly.

Ziva meant 'radiance' and 'brilliance' in Hebrew.


	17. Chapter 17

The only magazines in the waiting room were three months out of date. Jenny Shepard had looked them over when she'd first arrived and cast them aside. Given her level of security clearance, anything she read in _Newsweek_ would likely be five to eight months behind or seriously lacking in detail and she never had time for the recipes from _Good Housekeeping_. Cooking wasn't exactly her strong suit anyway. Not even pictures in _Sports Illustrated_, which she could normally appreciate on a strictly gratuitous level, had been able to distract her.

She checked her watch and tapped on its minute, glass-covered face. It had been one of her gifts to herself after being named Director of NCIS. She'd only noticed the lack of a second hand in the last nine hours. Time moved slowly without a threadlike ticking hand to confirm a watch's functioning. The surgeon had spoken to her almost twenty minutes previous (only twenty minutes ago?) and neither of the two things she'd expected had occurred in the interval since – no one from the medical staff had updated her and Gibbs hadn't arrived.

Her coffee cup had been empty for over an hour, but she again attempted to sip from it. She'd managed to make it last for almost two hours, barely minding the cold dregs she'd swallowed with the last few mouthfuls. It was when she'd come back from getting this fourth cup of coffee that she'd realized how long she'd been waiting, how long Ziva had been in surgery.

Jen unwillingly flashed back to the ER. She hadn't had to throw around any clout; the staff had practically tripped over themselves to accommodate her. A nurse had stood outside the trauma room with her, explaining what the doctors and nurses inside were doing. She could have lived without the play-by-play, but it was better than watching and _not_ knowing. They'd even allowed her speak to the patient on her way to surgery, a privilege they assured her they would grant to none less than the director of a federal agency.

Ziva had been heavily medicated at that point and nearly unresponsive, but conscious. Still, she'd smiled as they'd left the elevator, returning a squeeze of the hand and softly saying, "Shalom, Jen."

"Good shalom or bad shalom?"

Ziva hadn't answered, but she hadn't been smiling as they'd taken her where Jen could not follow. She chose to believe it had been a 'hello' and not a 'goodbye.' And she wished she'd taken the opportunity to say something meaningful just in case her choice proved wrong.

Eight hours in an empty, sterile waiting room with only dog-eared copies of old magazines for company had done little to allay her regrets.

She stood, arching her back as she stretched her stiff muscles. She lobbed her empty cup toward the garbage can. It bounced off the rim. Gibbs was picking it up and placing it in the trash before she could react. "Aim's off, Jen. Means you need a refill."

"Funny how I haven't had time." She glanced around the room, her eyes drawn to the clock on the far wall. It didn't have a second hand either. "I've been sitting here doing nothing, but I haven't had time." She tried not to sound as tired or upset as she felt.

"You've been busy waiting. It takes effort, I know." Gibbs sounded sympathetic, which she appreciated. "That's why I brought you this." He passed her a cardboard tray containing four full cups.

"You can't expect I'm going to drink all that."

"I expect you to drink one, me to drink one, Ducky to drink one and McGee to drink one." He pointed over his shoulder to the two other men.

Jen nodded to them. She hadn't even seen them standing there. She took a long drink from the hot coffee, warming her hands on the cup. "Tony didn't come?"

"He stopped in the men's room," McGee said. "He should be up in a minute."

A weighty silence followed in which coffee was consumed at a rapid rate. Jen looked at each man's face in turn. "No one's going to ask?"

"You haven't exactly volunteered anything."

She locked eyes with Gibbs for a moment, assuring herself that he wasn't just trying to play games. "She's still in recovery. They won't let anyone see her until she's been moved to her own room. They'll let us know once they've settled her."

"So she's in the clear after that?"

Jen ran a hand through her hair, mentally rephrasing what the surgeon had told her about potentially fatal complications. "They're concerned about infection."

"Given her injuries, I suspect they'll be particularly keen on preventing any peritoneal inflammation. Tell me, did the surgeon mention if the bullet perforated the intestine?"

"You can ask him yourself, Ducky. Here he comes." She pointed to a man in scrubs approaching the small group.

"I see Ms. David has quite the fan club."

"Dr. Patil, this is Special Agent Gibbs, Special Agent McGee and Dr. Mallard."

He shook hands with each before saying, "She's all set up in ICU. We'll keep her there for twenty-four hours then reassess her condition. I'll take you down." He turned his head back as he pushed a door open and held it as they passed through. "One of your friends is already there."

"Hm." Gibbs shook his head. "I just assumed DiNozzo got lost."

As they stepped into the elevator, Ducky began questioning Dr. Patil about the procedure and extent of the damage. Jen was glad someone had a head for medical detail; she'd stopped processing the meaning of the surgeon's words three sentences into their first conversation. The last thing she wanted to wrap her head around were numbers that sounded too large to be positive – pints of blood transfused and inches of small intestine excised.

The tiny chime of the elevator brought her back to reality. The ICU was active but quiet. Nurses whispered, machines beeped quietly with regular rhythms, lights were low. It was like being underwater. Dr. Patil led them down the hall to a room directly across from the main nurses' station. Jen stared through the window, trying to believe that everything she saw was helping Ziva. Wires ran under her hospital gown. Small circular patches were affixed to her temples. An IV pole supported several bags of clear liquid and one of dark red, all connected to tubes that ran into the veins on her arms.

Despite the circumstances, Jen wanted to tell the doctors that Ziva didn't need all this. Ziva wasn't one to demand constant attention and accept physical limitations. Ziva could survive on stale crusts of bread for two weeks in the least appealing slum of Rome after setting a fracture in her own arm, and still complete her mission. Jen had finally dragged her to a hospital once they'd neutralized the target on that occasion. The doctors had been amazed by how well she'd reduced the fracture; it had already started to heal and no infection had developed. They'd simply replaced the torn fabric and scrap metal strips she'd been using as a splint with a real cast. Jen was having trouble reconciling that Ziva with the one lying helpless in a hospital bed now.

The surgeon was explaining that she wouldn't be entirely conscious for at least few hours. "But she'll hear you if you talk to her, as your friend seems to have already figured out."

In the room, Jen finally saw that Tony sat next to the bed, his lips forming an unheard monologue. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he wasn't crying. His face was solemn.

McGee made a move for the door. Gibbs caught the back of his coat. "Wait, McGee."

"Oh. Right, boss."

Tony appeared to stop speaking in mid-sentence as he looked toward the window and saw he had an audience. Jen suddenly felt very uncomfortable. They were intruding. He came out into the hallway. "She's not awake yet, but she seems like she knows what's going on. I might just be imagining that."

McGee gave Tony's arm a brief squeeze as he passed him of the way into the room, Gibbs close on his heels. Ducky was still conversing with Dr. Patil. That left Tony looking at her with a pained expression. "Jenny, were you here before she went up to surgery?"

"Yes."

He rubbed his neck and looked at the floor as he asked, "Did…did you talk to her?"

"Briefly. She got a lot of pain meds in the ER and I don't think she was very aware at the time." She winced as she realized she was using her Director voice.

"She didn't say anything?"

Jen remembered her earlier instinct. "Just hello."

"Oh." She couldn't tell if he was disappointed or relieved. He fumbled with the zipper of his coat before getting it to catch. "I'll see you back at the office."

"You can stay a little longer."

"No…I…" He looked longingly through the window. Gibbs and McGee stood by Ziva's bed. McGee appeared to be doing most of the talking. "No. I just had to tell her I'm sorry."

Jen called after him as he walked away, "Tony!"

He waved his hand over his head without turning around and continued down the hall. She decided to let him go.


	18. Chapter 18

Tony peered nervously into the refrigerator case of the florist's shop. Deciding was not going to be easy. Each bloom was connected with a distinct thought, and each thought was the wrong one.

A dozen long-stemmed red roses were his usual floral purchase. His gaze flicked to them first, but he knew they were a mistake. Women read too much into roses. Even pink or yellow ones. Of course, she wasn't exactly… He shook his head in a firm decision against roses.

The lilies caught his eye. They were pretty cheerful. He pursed his lips. His last encounter with lilies had not gone well. He'd gone to calling hours when a buddy's brother had been killed in a car accident and unintentionally knocked over a large arrangement of the strongly scented flowers. That was two strikes – strong scent and funeral flowers. No lilies.

The gerbera daisies were colorful enough, but looked cheap compared to the other options. Ditto on carnations. Tulips? The tulips were nice. Everyone loved the wooden-shoed, windmill-building Dutch. Did tulips last, though? He looked helplessly around the shop. He was alone in a green and pink forest. This wasn't his strongest suit. Turning back to the case, he was surprised to see that an older woman had joined him looking into the case.

"Lovely selection, isn't it, dear?"

"Yeah. Very nice."

"Can I help you with something?"

"Oh!" He turned to look at her and saw she was wearing a green apron with the florist's logo embroidered on the front. "Yeah. I, uh, need some flowers."

She didn't laugh at the obviousness of his request. "For a particular occasion?"

"No…well, sort of. Someone I know is in the hospital…a friend…and I thought, y'know, flowers would be good. I mean, I think I should bring her flowers because that's what you do when…do you think a cactus is an inappropriate get well gift?"

The woman laughed now and placed a hand on his arm. "Why don't we just put together a nice mixed bouquet for your friend, dear."

"Okay. But, uh, nothing too…" He didn't know what to say.

"Expensive?" she suggested.

"No, that's not it." He wanted something that said he was sorry, that he cared, that he wished it had been him instead. He wanted something that she would look at and understand all the things he couldn't say. His eyes flicked to a deceptive poster on the wall – 'Say It With Flowers.' The only problem was he didn't speak flower. Or know what to say. Not out loud, anyway.

The woman seemed to sense his uncertainty. "How about I put together the bouquet and meet you at the counter in a few minutes?"

"That's sounds fine." He exhaled loudly as he escaped into an attached greenhouse. The air was warm and humid. He walked past rows of potted plants and small running fountains. He chuckled to himself as he read one of the cards. He muttered, "Poppies. Poppies will put them to sleep." She might recognize that one; he knew she'd seen the movie. Gravel crunched beneath his feet. He continued out of the greenhouse into a covered area with open sides where shrubs were kept. He plucked a branch of a leafy green one, sighing as it snapped back into place. He headed back into the shop.

The woman stood at the counter wrapping cellophane around the biggest bouquet of flowers Tony had ever seen outside of a movie. "Ah, there you are, dear. I hope this will do."

"Whoa."

"Yes, I believe I've outdone myself if you don't mind me saying. I think the white roses and pink calla lilies are really complimented by the darker pinks of the Peruvian lilies and the purples of the dendrobium orchids. I used a full dozen white roses; I hope that isn't too much. I also added a few of these special pink roses. We call them 'Classic Cézannes.' I think they give it a little something extra."

He looked at the bouquet in amazement. He'd never been amazed by flowers before. His uncertainty, however, lingered. Through the material of his t-shirt, he toyed with the small charm hanging near his throat. "That's really…"

The woman winked at him. "A special arrangement for someone special."

"I never said…"

"You didn't have to, dear. Cash or charge?"

He signed the receipt and picked up the bouquet. He could barely get his hand around the cylinder of tightly grouped stems. "Thank you."

"You're welcome dear."

An hour later, he waited for the elevator with a group of other hospital visitors, clutching his large, colorful bouquet. An attractive college-age girl eyed the flowers. "I guess someone's pretty lucky today."

Tony had no inclination to flirt. He produced a half-smile and kept his eyes forward as he countered by saying, "If she were lucky she wouldn't be in the hospital."

The girl giggled. "So…getting a visit from a hot guy with a big bouquet doesn't count as lucky? I'd be thrilled if you walked into my hospital room." She batted her eyelashes.

"Well, you're not recovering from a gunshot wound." He got off at the next floor and took the stairs the remaining three stories. He hadn't meant to be so rude, but he'd never been so nauseated by a compliment. His nerves got more severe as he stepped into the ward.

He already knew which room Ziva was in – McGee had given him a detailed path from the parking lot to the chair beside her bed. And he'd visited the floor twice. The first time he hadn't gotten far from the elevator; the second he'd made it halfway down the hall before turning around and walking out. He stopped at the nurses' station anyway. A smiling blonde in a white turtleneck asked, "Can I help you, sir?"

"Uh, yeah. Ziva David?"

"Room 714, right down this hall."

He hesitated. "How is she doing?"

"Oh, she's recovering wonderfully," the woman beamed. "Way ahead of schedule. The doctors are all tickled pink." She leaned over the desk and lowered her voice, "The other patients are all jealous of how many visitors she's getting. There are two in there now."

"Nothing like being in the hospital to get you elected prom queen." He put on his best fake grin and tried to share the nurse's laugh, but his came out hollow. His feet felt heavy as he walked down the hallway. The door to her room was half-open. He leaned toward it, trying to recognize the voices inside. He could hear Jimmy Palmer distinctly and…Agent Lee? Tony shook his head; maybe Lee thought serious injury made Ziva less scary. Even if they'd taken all her weapons when they'd admitted her, she'd probably swiped a scalpel or scissors or rotary reciprocating saw for under her pillow, just in case. Still, it was nice Lee had taken the time to come.

He sighed, looking down at the bouquet clutched in his hand. He'd thought the flowers would force him to walk through the door; he couldn't justifiably leave the hospital with them.

The nurse in the white turtleneck was still at the desk. "That was quick. Oh, I see! You want water for those. I'll see what we have in our exclusive plastic pitcher slash vase line."

"No, I…you said that there are other patients who aren't getting visitors? If you could just give these to one of them, or split them up between a few…I'm sure you'll know what's best. Thank you." He placed the bouquet on the counter and stepped toward the elevators.

"Sir?" the nurse called after him. Against his better judgment, he turned. She was giving him a confused look. "Don't you want to…"

"Yeah. I do." He wanted nothing more than to walk down the hall, walk into her room and give her the big stupid bouquet. He just didn't want to face the accusation in her eyes. He got enough of that when he looked in the mirror. "Make sure these get to someone who could use them."


	19. Chapter 19

A/n: Trying something different here: third person limited with authorial invasions into the narrator's brain. All parenthesized italics represent Ziva's thoughts in the moment (_damn Sheep_). Let me know if it's annoying (_yes_). It reads fine if you just want to ignore them (_please do_).

* * *

Palmer and Lee (_it was cute how they'd pretended not to have come together_) had been gone for half an hour. Ziva fiddled with the controls on her hospital bed, seeing how far she could sit up before (_oh, too far_) it hurt. She leaned the head of the bed back slightly and checked the plastic guardrail. The hash mark she'd lightly gouged into it yesterday was invisible; at least she was sitting a little straighter today. She had to laugh at herself (_not out loud, not out loud…ow_) for the odd practice, but she couldn't realistically set any of her normal goals. 'Run x number of miles' took a backseat to 'eat all the pureed food placed on your tray' at the moment. Hell, she couldn't even get out of bed yet.

She abandoned the bed controls and flipped through the TV channels again. Still nothing on (_programs don't change every ten minutes_) besides the news. She'd watched enough ZNN the previous day; Zangent Research Labs had folded like a deck of cards (_was that right?_) when NCIS had started asking questions. The company's lawyers had spent most of the press conference trying to undo the damage the CFO had done with his statement regarding payments made to Brian Evans. McGee had stopped by later that day to tell her how Gibbs had made every last interviewee cry. He'd been exaggerating, but they'd still had a good laugh (_ow_) over it.

"Looks like I caught you between visitors!" Turtleneck (_Julia. Nicknames just helped relieve the boredom_) entered the room with a huge bouquet of flowers in a plastic water pitcher. "Haven't touched your lunch yet, I see."

Ziva glanced at the tray of mush (_Pink Stethoscope had been so proud she'd managed to get a pork chop pureed._) and frowned. "Guess I just wasn't hungry. Are those for me?"

"Of course. Do you think I'd tease you with someone else's flowers? Not that I think it would make you feel bad at this point." They both glanced around the room. Everyone who had visited had felt compelled to bring something, turning the room into a mini gift shop, although the black roses (_Abby_) seemed a bit out of place. (_The combat knife Gibbs had brought was under the pillow._) "I can hardly believe you know someone who hasn't sent something." (_Two people._)

"Is there a card?"

"No, a friend of yours dropped them off." (_Directors of intelligence agencies didn't send flowers. Not even to their daughters. Tony?_) She moved the peace lily plant Cynthia (_another name on the list of totally unexpected visitors_) had brought and placed the pitcher on the nightstand next to the bed. "I didn't catch his name. He was tall (_Tony_), with light brown hair (_Tony_) and really pretty blue eyes (_Tony_). He came to the nurses' station and asked about how you were doing, then he went down the hall, but came back after just a few minutes. He asked us to give the flowers to someone who could use them. I figured since they were for you, you could use them most." She stopped arranging the bouquet. "One of the other nurses said he was here yesterday too. Is he your ex-boyfriend or something?"

(_Something_) She picked at the cloth tape securing one of her IV tubes to her skin. "He's my partner."

"Oh," Turtleneck stepped back to admire the flowers. She continued in a conversational tone, "So he was there when you were injured?"

"Yes. He (_clearly didn't want to visit_)…he carried me, up the stairs and out to the ambulance. That was the last time I saw him."

"He seemed, I don't know, conflicted? I think he really wanted to see you, but something was holding him back." Turtleneck made some notes on her chart and smiled at Ziva. "I'm sure he'll be back." (_But will he come in?_)

Another cycle of bed adjustments (_too far_) and TV channels later, a knock sounded on the metal frame of the door (_Tony?_). McGee's head (_oh_) peeked around the corner. "Busy?" He produced a pint container from a paper bag.

"Is that Kahlua ice cream from Gifford's?" (_Oh!_)

"I figured you'd probably had enough Jell-O already today."

She grabbed the spoon off her tray table and ripped the lid off the pint. The first bite of ice cream melted slowly in her mouth. "Oh, McGee, I am never gluing you to anything ever again." (_It won't be any fun without a co-conspirator_.)

He sat in the chair next to her bed and took the spare spoon she offered him. They spent a few minutes enjoying the ice cream. McGee turned to grab a napkin of the nightstand and (_finally_) noticed the new flowers. "Wow. That's so big it could be a roommate. Where'd it come from?"

"Tony. Apparently."

"What, you think he stole them from someone in the parking lot or something?" He laughed. (_He's been very upbeat every time he's come. It's nice he's making a special effort._)

She found it hard to smile in response. "I mean he left them with the nurses. He never came in."

"Maybe a doctor was here and he didn't want to interrupt."

"I think he came when Jimmy and Michelle were here."

"Maybe he didn't want to bring you a big bouquet of flowers while they were here. You never know what kind of rumors could get started." (_McGee got credit for trying_.)

"I haven't seen him."

"I'm sure he'll be back tomorrow."

"McGee, he hasn't been here at all."

"But that doesn't make any sense. I bumped into him coming in when I was leaving two days ago. And he was late yesterday because he got stuck in traffic on the way from here."

"Then why haven't I seen him?"

"I…(_don't you dare make excuses for him_) think he's…(_being an ass?_)…um, scared."

(_Did the pain meds just kick in?_) "McGee, Agent Lee is scared of me. You're scared of me. Tony is not scared of me."

"Hey, I'm not scared of you (_liar_). And I didn't mean he's scared of you. I think he thinks you're going to blame him."

"For what?"

"Um, getting shot?"

(_That's the dumbest excuse ever_.) "We were ambushed. Neither of us saw it coming."

"Yeah, but you're the one who got shot and he thinks it's his fault. Ziva, he's been acting strange the past few days. I know he's been worried about you. I thought it would get better once you started recovering, but it hasn't. If he hasn't really been visiting you…look, he wouldn't even talk to me for a while because he thought _I _would blame him for you being (_get to the point, McGee_)…this whole thing has really brought back a lot of…"

(_Ah_.) "Agent Todd."

He stuck his spoon in the ice cream and left it there. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment. "Tell him I want him here, McGee."

"You could just call him, you know."

"I've tried. He doesn't pick up. Can you get me a pen and a piece of paper?" She scribbled a quick note and folded it. "Would you give this to him when you see him?"

"And if this doesn't work?"

"Cuff him to his chair and drag him here."

McGee laughed. "I'll tell him you loaned me your secret Moussad cuffs."

(_ow_)


	20. Chapter 20

Tony walked into the squad room twenty minutes early. He'd made a habit of coming in early the past few days. If he got to work twenty minutes early, it meant he had forty minutes in the office to get something done before her lateness became vividly noticeable. He knew she wasn't coming, but it helped to think she could be. It was one of many tricks he was employing to get through her absence. After twenty-five past the hour, he spent the rest of the day sitting at his computer, typing reports and not staring at her empty desk. That was another of his tricks – it was always her or she, never…always her or she.

He draped his coat over the back of his chair and settled in for a long day of paperwork. The Neal case had provided quite the exercise routine for his fingers. Of course, he had to do half of it instead of just a third because…his typing needed work.

He'd opened a fresh Word document and typed a header when he saw someone coming from the elevator. "Morning, McGee."

Instead of passing to his own desk, McGee planted himself in front of Tony's. "Why'd you lie?"

"About what?" He didn't make eye contact.

"You haven't visited Ziva yet."

He winced. McGee didn't follow the her/she rule. "Yes I have."

"Since she's been conscious?"

"I never said I had." He slipped a finger under the chain around his neck. It was slightly too small to be comfortable normally, but now it felt like it was shrinking. "I said I'd been to the hospital a couple times."

"Yeah, well I stopped by yesterday and she asked me to give you this." McGee dropped a piece of paper folded into quarters on the desk in front of Tony.

He handled it by a corner, holding it away from his body as if it were diseased. His name was on it in her handwriting. "You read this, Probie?"

"No, but I think I know what it says."

"Oh?"

"She'll shoot you if you don't visit her." He paused and looked seriously at Tony. "She doesn't blame you."

"Yeah." He slowly unfolded and read the note, ignoring McGee's look of interested curiosity.

_This wasn't your fault. I do want to see you, so if you are going to visit me, visit me. Jerk._

_ Ziva._

_P.S. Thank you for the flowers._

He began to laugh but made the mistake of looking up and seeing the empty desk across from him. He refolded the note and patted McGee on the shoulder. "Tell Gibbs I'm…"

"Tell me what, DiNozzo?" Gibbs had been bringing coffee for all three of them over the past week. He was holding a cardboard tray containing three coffee cups again today, his thumb hooked into the one vacant holder. Even the coffee tray knew she wasn't there.

Tony pulled his coat on sheepishly. "That I was just gonna run down to the hospital, boss."

"You feeling all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, I was just gonna…the thing is I haven't actually…well, I just got this note and…"

"Go, Tony. If you avoid her any longer she really will stab you."

"Funny. McGee said shoot me."

"I brought her a get well knife, not a gun."

"I'll remember that. Thanks, boss." He almost knocked Abby over in his rush to get to the elevator. "Sorry, Abs."

She continued on to the bullpen, glancing back over her shoulder. "Glad I could make a cameo in your day. Where's Tony off to?"

"The hospital," Gibbs replied, sitting at his desk.

"Thank God. He was gonna go nuts if he didn't see her soon."

"Yup."

"Wait, you guys knew he was lying about visiting Ziva?"

"Duh, McGee." Abby shook her head. "And you call yourself an investigator."

* * *

The nurse in the white turtleneck was wearing a blue turtleneck today. She recognized Tony immediately as he walked up to the nurses' station. "She'll be glad to see you decided to come back." 

"Yeah, I hope so. Listen, I just wanted to thank you, for…well, with the flowers."

"Not a problem." She winked and smiled. The smile he gave her this time was genuine.

There was a lightness in his steps down the hospital corridor. She'd asked him to come. She _wanted_ him to come. The door was slightly ajar, but he stopped just as he was about to push it open. Someone was already in the room. A man. Tony could hear him conversing with Ziva in Hebrew. The conversation, despite being in a foreign language, sounded serious. He crossed the hallway and leaned against the wall, waiting. He passed the time by rereading her note.

The door finally opened and a silver-haired man in a suit stepped into the hall. He observed Tony with a look of recognition, but said nothing, walking toward the elevators with a very business-like stride.

Tony took a deep breath and took the three steps necessary to get to her door. The man who had just departed had left it open. She looked up as he entered. Her eyes sparkled and the corners of her mouth curled upward into the first stage of his favorite smile. "Tony." The smile gradually spread over her whole face, making him wonder why he'd been making excuses not to see her.

He returned her smile with one of his own. "Hey." He remained in the doorway, unsure of what to do next. He pointed over his shoulder. "I was waiting in the hall. Was that…?"

"Officer Bashan. He's assigned to the Israeli Embassy here in Washington."

"Oh, I thought it might be…"

"Hardly. Though he did take the time out of his busy schedule to send his regards. Or so Michael told me."

"Ziva, I'm sure…"

"Look, I can appreciate that you're trying to be evasive, but talking about my father is not the way to go about it."

He moved to the chair by the side of her bed, noting that the flowers he'd left with the nurse the previous day were the ones situated closest to the bed. "I should have come sooner."

"You did come. You should have actually come in." Her voice was slightly hoarse, giving it a seductive quality that he was almost sure she didn't intend. Not at the moment anyway.

"I take it you're feeling better."

"A little. They're threatening to keep me here for another week and I've yet to threaten back with violence."

He sighed and leaned forward, taking her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"Everything? I only want an apology for you ignoring me while I'm in the hospital."

"There's that, and…"

"No. No and. It could just as easily have been you."

He looked into her eyes and saw none of the accusations he had feared. "Okay."

"Okay." She held onto one of his hands as he tried to pull it away. "Are you wearing my necklace?"

He turned up his collar to hide the gold chain, mumbling, "I just didn't want to, uh, lose it or anything. You can have it back." He fumbled for the clasp, one-handed.

She smiled again. "Hang onto it until I get out of here."

"I can do that." They lapsed into silence. He'd forgotten how he didn't always have to have something to say around her. His thumb idly stroked the back of her hand.

The nurse in the blue turtleneck came into the room a few minutes later, breaking the comfortable stillness. She placed two clear cups containing small, jiggling red squares on the table, along with two plastic spoons. "Don't tell my supervisor I snuck you a Jell-O," she stage-whispered to Tony. She quietly closed the door on her way out.

Ziva let go of his hand as she picked up one of the cups and a spoon. Tony took the other cup and shook it to see the cubes bounce against each other. "I didn't know you were such a Jell-O fan."

"It's one of the few things they're giving me that's _supposed_ to be squishy. Why the cooks think I'll want a chicken cacciatore paste is far from me."

"Beyond you?" he corrected. He'd thought it would take longer to drop into their normal habits. He was glad it hadn't.

"That too. All I have to say is mark your calendar for the day the doctors say I can eat solid food, because that's the day you're buying me lunch." She wiped her chin to catch a bit of Jell-O that had dripped from her spoon.

He grinned. "It's a date."

The End

A/n: Thanks, as always, to all readers and reviewers. Sequel in the works.


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